


Heart, Kid

by WhyWereYouBorn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A lot - Freeform, All Consentual, And rightfully so, Angst, Anyways, Bucky - Freeform, But Not Much, Consent is clear, Dinner Party, F/M, FRIENDS OK, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Howard Stark - Freeform, I needed to update the rating and the tags to be safe, ILY, IS THAT A TALL ORDER I THINK NOT, ITS NOT ALL SMUT IM SORRY, It's a lil stormy now, M/M, More Sex, Multi, Peggy - Freeform, Peggy Carter - Freeform, Smut, This has sex now, Towels, Wakanda, a lot of fluff i assure you, a lot of italics but bear with me, all of you, also trust in peggy, and, im SORRY I WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH MY BOYS PLATONICALLY AND SEXUALLY, im sorry, its all wholesome, its good you'll like it, maybe you'll even like it, ok ily, please enjoy, private loraine is just confused, read it, reader - Freeform, shes sweet i swear, steve - Freeform, there are some towels in this, there is no questionable consent, there's a bit more to it, until it isnt, with all of you, yes - Freeform, you - Freeform, you'll surprise yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 63,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23049694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyWereYouBorn/pseuds/WhyWereYouBorn
Summary: You and Steve and Bucky have been friends since elementary school.Their bodies are yours as much as yours is theirs.But people grow, be it closer and apart.I like to think that you three grow closer.Perhaps closer than you think you even were capable of.Friends?? No, no, these guys are your home, seriously.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Pre-Serum Steve/Reader, Steve Rogers & Reader, preserum steve/reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 182





	1. The Past

**"Dancing** **"**

“So,” Peggy drawls a small bit, leaning in close. “How is Steve doing?” She asks, a kind enough smile on her face.

You snort, leaning in closer to the map, setting coordinates for the different Nazi bases that Steve managed to eye during his mission to save the hundred and seventh infantry (more importantly Bucky). “Do you mean recently? Or like, how has he been doing forever?”

Her lips purse to the side. “Recently.”

You shrug, the scratching of marker tugging at thick map paper. “He’s fine, Bucky’s been hounding him since they got back though.”

And it’s true, ever since Steve got back and after the high of forming the howling commandos with Gabe, Dum-Dum and all the others, Bucky’s made a pointed effort to lecture Steve every chance he can get.

✯✯✯

_“It was reckless, Steve,” you could hear Bucky huff to him that cloudy morning (curtains drawn to stop the painfully grey London sky from pushing into the apartment—Steve’s sketchbook tossed lazily next to his half eaten plate of eggs and bacon)._

_“Anyone would’ve made that call,” Steve reasoned._

_And you could hear Bucky laugh, though it’s humorless. “Yeah, right.”_

_“Okay, fine, but it was rational, I swear,” you can see the shift of his formal Captain uniform catching a small bit on his shoulders as he shrugs. “Not as reckless as me jumping on a grenade during training though.”_

_“You what?” Bucky scolded then, followed by the clear sounds of fists pounding flesh and Steve’s laughter._

_You rolled your eyes, downing your coffee, collecting all your dishes, walking into the small kitchen. “Ease up, Buck,” you said, placing everything into the sink. “You’re just upset he does what you do, but better.”_

_Steve laughed at that, whooping in agreement as Bucky pounced at you next, sweeping you off your feet, sitting you up on the counter, pinching your sides and prodding—eliciting yelps from you as you try and writhe away (“Not so funny now, huh,” he’d badger as you struggle)._

_When you were kids, and even now, the painfully strong grip he’s got of you, the grip that he’s always had on you (the grip that you never minded) is just a reminder that he’s always been a solid force in your life, always._

_Though Steve comes to your rescue swiftly. Tugging you up and wrapping you around his back. “My hero,” you say then, Steve darting out of the kitchen, avoiding Bucky’s grabby hands._

_“Come on!” And he laughed your name, bright against the grey UK skies. “Today London—”_ _And you grip onto him for dear life as he tore open the curtains—letting in the dreary reality of the world. Though then he’s jumping onto the couch, pointing outside. “Tomorrow, the world!”_

✯✯✯

Peggy laughed. “I’d be annoyed too,” she shrugs. “It was reckless, but I’m glad he did it.”

You rolled your eyes, cut by the absolutely dopey smile on your face. “Yeah, I’m glad he completely risked dying to save Bucky too, oh—and the rest of the hundred and seventh,” you look up to her now. “Happier he proved Colonel Phillips wrong.”

Because you were there, when Steve came home after he got all super-sized (literally). And you saw the absolute pain in his eyes when he told you Colonel Phillips said he wasn’t enough, the wish to be like Bucky before him was painfully obvious. Really Steve just wishing he was wherever Bucky was (and you wishing the same).

✯✯✯

_“After everything. I’m still not enough,” he had moped into you._

_“You’re more than enough,” you said back, words you had told him over and over, echoing Bucky._

_“Apparently Senator Stern has some pull,” Steve shrugged, he was draped over top of you. The couch that once seated both of you easily was now drooping with the weight of him and you. And Steve, who was once so like your height, now towered over you. And he was hot, all the damn time._

_It was so painfully different from the way you and Bucky would corral him in blankets and pillows and eventually your own two bodies, just to keep him warm. “Pull?”_

_“Said if I help him with bonds, I’ll be leading an infantry in no time,” Steve said then, sighing. “Maybe, maybe if I do what he wants—I’ll get shipped to wherever Bucky is,” and he went quiet. “Has he written?”_

_“Nope.”_

(And the rest was history, wasn’t it? Steve became a dancing monkey for the war and Bucky was out there, risking his life. Both too busy to write back to you, to each other. And you, not allowed to get out there yourself, had to push and push and finally you got recognized for your strategic value—and got shipped out to London before you could write to either of them.

Only then, fate had it for you to catch Steve—all stars and stripes, talking to the army, trying to rouse them up and failing.)

_“Bring out the girls!” Someone had yelled._

_“I—I think they only know the one song, but I’ll see what I can do,” Steve said, and then he left the stage, his showgirls running back out seconds later._

_And you? The minute you saw Steve again, god, how long had it been? You ran, faster than your legs could carry you—stumbling through soldiers and mud and rainy British skies, before you pushed past the showrunner._

_Steve looked up at you from where he was sat, brows quirked, saying your name like it hadn’t left his lips in a long, long time. He was surprised for sure._

_It’s easy then. To remember the 95-pound asshole who couldn’t run from the fight. Small and somehow always sick, before you’ve run yourself into his arms. The scratch of a costume not meant for any kind of war, tough against your cheek. Though softened by the sure pump of his pulse against your head. Never strong before, but strong now._

_And he hugged you back, longer and stronger than he ever had before. Not before Peggy had come back there, breaking up your little reunion (and looking a little too displeased, though considering you two didn’t know each other well at the time, you get it) talking about the hundred and seventh and soldiers seeing hell._

_It was maybe seconds then, from Steve listening, to him running with you and Peggy to Colonel Phillips. You with tears in your eyes, because not Bucky._

_Anyone but him._

_“The name does sound familiar,” Phillips had said, and you wanted to puke and scream and punch him all at the same time your knees buckled, and Peggy caught you. And Steve? He was already gone. Planning to get Bucky back._

_“I—” you had started, gripping to his shitty Halloween costume like a lifeline. “Not you too, please not you too,” you begged._

_“I’ll be back, and I’m bringing Bucky too,” and you knew that he was stubborn, him and Bucky both. A match for it. Even in a time before the war. Kids, fighting over the last piece of bacon, or who got to be ‘it’ in tag next. And you between it all, laughing and far too pliable compared to their rigidity._

_He left and that was it. Your eyes watery and red, until the days past and they were there, with the rest of the hundred and seventh._

_Steve brought Bucky back from the dead._

_And running into Bucky’s arms? The smell of fire and gunpowder and war clinging to him the same way cologne did when he would go out to impress dames? It was heaven, right where you should be. And he hugged back, like he agreed. It was a lifetime saved over._

✯✯✯

“I was thinking,” Peggy began, clearing her throat, what we she so nervous about? It was wildly different from the stern face and prim posture she normally held. You turn fully to face her now, putting down the papers you were holding on the large table behind you two. She shrugs and laughs a small bit, shaking her head. “It’s ridiculous, but I was thinking of asking Steve to go dancing.”

You laugh then, a real, full bellied laugh. Because Steve? Dancing? No. Nope.

Even a hundred forty-five pounds heavier and now taller than Bucky, Steve couldn’t dance.

✯✯✯

_Because Bucky liked dancing with you, he always said it gave him practice with girls when he went out at night. “You’re a natural,” and he’d say it so earnestly, like dancing lazily to music was enough to unlock the most gentle sides of him._

_You’d always flush, “colour me impressed,” you’d say sarcastically, and he would muster a laugh, brushing a finger across your blush—which would just make you colour more. You’d never known Bucky to be anything but dashing, or absolutely charming, but you knew everything about him (and the same of him to you)._

_So, you wonder, then, what must it be like for a girl at a bar, to see him sitting there, dapper and collected, sipping on something dark and oaky in taste. The barest smile across his clean face, blue eyes, yes, but rich and dark… Tempting, in the low light._

_And what must she think when he approaches her? The sheer thrill of it. (The same thrill that runs through your gut when Bucky hauls you off your feet to go lay with him while he naps, surely)._

_Though you step away, once the record ends, going to turn it over._

_“C’mon princess, your turn,” Bucky would then say, tugging Steve off the couch._

_And Steve (Still to this day) would make some protest, sketching away, wanting to get the light just right, wanting to get the somehow cocky yet sincere impression on Bucky’s face perfect in charcoal. Desperate to get the delicate hold of your hands in his._

_And Bucky would roll his eyes. “You want to be good at dancing or not?” He’d sneer. “What if some girl asks you to dance one day?”_

_Steve would huff. “No girl is gonna ask me, Buck.”_

_“I’d ask you,” you say, flopping down onto the couch. “And when I do,” you put emphasis on the word ‘when’, “you’ll be good because Mr. Barnes taught you.”_

_“You don’t count!” Steve protested, Bucky’s hand sliding around his waist, his other grabbing for Steve’s hand._

_“Yes, she does,” Bucky retorts. “And that’s Sergeant Barnes, to you.”_

_You roll your eyes, but Bucky’s known you long enough to see the snarky remark tucked neatly away under your tongue. He drops it, though, because Steve somehow managed to step on both of his feet at the same time._

_“How is that possible,” you hear him murmur._

_And Steve would whine back, too loud for the distance between the two of them would warrant. “I’m not fit for dancing with any girl, Buck.”_

_“But you’re fit to dance with me, Stevie,” he prodded, just the slightest hint of flirtation. “How about it?” It was rhetorical of course, but with you, there were no pictures to paint. Steve though, could never see it (no matter how much time he spent drawing, himself). “Me and you, under the stars, just like this. No music then, but maybe, just maybe some peace.”_

_Bucky’s voice a low murmur, soft like the wind outside, knocking against the old building the three of you called home in Brooklyn. He swayed from step to step like he weighed nothing, like Steve was the one anchoring him down. There’s the light shift of fabric, the draw of hands, then, the softest thump of comfort._

_You look up, and Steve’s wilted against Bucky the smallest bit, forehead pushed into his chest, hand against it as well. No doubt listening to his heartbeat over the record. And Bucky’s murmuring the ‘what if’s’ that are only safe behind closed curtains, hidden behind closed doors, under blankets, lurking._

_Wishing._

_Steve’s gone, walls down, soft like taffy, and Bucky hums. “Now you’re getting it, Rogers,” and the two of them travel delicately on each foot, softly. Like it was easy for Steve, suddenly. Like suddenly, he could dance._

_It was Bucky._

_It was always Bucky._

✯✯✯

“It’s a silly idea,” Peggy shakes her head then, her tight composure returning, shoulders stiff.

You cough out the last bit of a laugh. _“No! No!”_ You jest, smiling bright. “I think you should ask,” and you grin somehow wider, putting a generous hand on her shoulder. “Please, ask.”

She gives you a weary look, trying to find the joke, trying to understand if she was perhaps picking at the wrong tree. But the weary look fades and she smiles and hugs you next. “Thank you,” and you squeeze back, because you never thought Peggy was anyone past the firm press of her red lips, or the curl of her hair.

Turns out she’s lovely.

**"History"**

“ _Steve,”_ you hound one day, barging into the always crowded bedroom in the tiny London flat the three of you managed to cram yourselves into. You see Steve splayed across the bed, arms and legs lazily strewn over Bucky haphazardly. The two of them properly knocked out.

Though, it seemed like, with all they were doing currently (what with the Howling Commandos and HYDRA) they were always tired. You suppose rightfully so. Then again, with all the stress they put you through, _before_ they leave for a mission, you have a well-deserved urge to smack them silly and hold them close, so close, in fact, that they would never be allowed to leave again.

✯✯✯

_“Okay but please pack extra food for Steve,” you hounded lightly, pushing more packets of food into Bucky’s hands. Steve was always hungry now, feeding his metabolism was a collective effort, that’s for sure. Though when Bucky wouldn’t take them (already carrying six extra packets) you huffed and gave them to Dernier, who smiled and took them easily._

_“Si seulement quelqu'un m'aimait autant!”_ _He exclaimed, kissing you on the cheek. And Bucky shook his head and laughed at that, tugging you away, setting you down on a small crate of what most likely was extra guns and ammo._

_“We’re going to be fine,” He promised you, getting down on one knee, to eye level. He does this every time, without fail. He’ll sit you down, or hug you, or give your hand one last squeeze before they’re gone, by plane or boat or truck. And him and Steve wave for as long as they can—before they disappear past where you can see._

_All that’s left then is to hope and spend the days waiting for them to come back. Sometimes unscathed, but most of the time, all the time, they come back hurt, damaged._

_And Steve will always smile through the pain and wipe your tears with the thick fabric of his suit (yes it scratches your skin, and yeah its not the nicest, but it’s always worth it for the way he clicks his tongue and runs his thumb under your eyes, wishing the pain away). “Could’ve been worse,” he says. Each time. Every time._

_And every time you get the two of them (and the other Howling Commandos, if you can) into beds, forcing them to heal ‘at least a little bit or so help me’ until they go out and do it all over again._

_“You say that every time,” you reason. Though he knows you enough to hear the words before they leave your lips, ‘its going to go south one of these days’._

_He puts a hand to your shoulder. “Hasn’t gone bad yet, though, right?” And you feel him squeeze down, bringing your eyes back to his._

_“No not yet, but—” and you’re going to say ‘eventually’ because one of the three of you needs to be realistic, otherwise everything would shatter. The world was already too delicate from war, you didn’t need the two of them gone too._

_“You ready?” Steve calls, and you and Bucky look up at him. He looks at you and shakes his head, sinking down to one knee down next to Bucky. “We’re going to be fine!” And he slings an arm around Bucky, the two of them smiling at you, too bright for the circumstance. “Haven’t died yet.”_

_“Steve!” You can’t help but scold. You’ve always been worried about sounding like a mother, but they’re reckless, and it’s unfair that you’re outmatched two to one on everything. Because Steve got strong and took right along after Bucky. Running into battle headfirst. Always talking about doing things ‘for the greater good’._

_Bucky laughs then, knocking his head into Steve’s lightly. “We’ll be fine, okay?” And he shrugs, nonchalant. “Just about two hundred miles behind enemy lines—”_

_“Oh my god—” you gasp, weakly._

_“Pretty sure they’ve dreamed up new weapons too—” Steve adds, a cruel smirk at his lips._

_“—Both of you stop—”_

_“Really? No way?” Bucky says, his eyes glinting._

_“What?!—Stop—”_

_Steve nods. “I’ve only heard rumours, but I’m pretty sure it can evaporate a man with one blast—”_

_You can’t help the upset little whine that escapes you. Worry coiling in your neck as you lunge forward, your arms feel like jelly, but you hug them both as tightly as you can. You think maybe, just maybe, if you hold on tight enough, then they’ll stay._

_It’s like when the three of you were just kids, before war, before you became something else._

_You and Bucky, giggling under a blanket, hoping Steve’s mom wouldn’t notice the obvious lumps. And Steve would sit on top of you guys, trying to mask you two with his skinny body._

_And she’d make a joke, saying that it looked like you and Bucky were nowhere to be found. “Such a shame,” she would drawl. “Because I made some cookies, and they’re nice and hot.”_

_How easily were you swayed then? Your eyes water thinking about it. The way Bucky would erupt from the blankets, hopping off the bed, tugging you and Steve with him. Mrs. Rogers, alive and well at one point, smiling and with that same blonde hair Steve inherited._

_The three of you would sit out in Steve’s small backyard, eating cookies in the setting sunlight, and when the stars came out, Bucky would talk about how he wanted to be a space man. And you and Steve would cuddle together, listening to him talk about how cool it would be._

_Until Mrs. Rogers returned, corralling you three back inside. “Now, each of your parents said you could spend the night,” and she would smile, when you and Bucky would yelp and high-five. “But you’re not allowed to stay up!”_

_And of course, you and Bucky and Steve would agree, crossing your hearts, though the crossed fingers behind your back were always present (and Steve’s mom would pretend not to notice)._

_The rest was spent there, the three of you crowded on Steve’s bed, under a blanket, a flashlight to an old picture book._

_It’s easy to remember then, that you’ve loved the two of them for a long, long time. It’s easy to remember how much they’ve been a part of your life._

_And they surely feel it in the way you cling to them now, warm foreheads pressed to your neck, the sensation of Steve smiling against you, Bucky’s arm now wrapped around your shoulders._

_“We’ll be back,” Steve says, and his breath slides against your neck._

_You let go then, all three of you with cheeks a bit more flushed, but you with more certainty now. Just a little more hopeful now._

✯✯✯

Now, though, you jump onto him, kicking the wind out of his lungs. “ _Ow—What the—”_ he gives you a groggy look, sitting up, phrasing your name like a question followed by a sharp ‘what the _hell_ ’.

Bucky shoots up at the new weight too, blinking wildly, arms tensed to fight. When he sees it’s just you though (your legs haphazardly straddling Steve’s stomach) he relaxes, licking his lips and sliding back down.

“Did you kiss Lorraine?” You ask, furious.

His face drops at that, immediately awake. “I—what—that’s _ridiculous!_ ” He defends.

“Really?” You cock your head to the side. “Because from what _I’m_ hearing you were all over her,” you say, pushing his chest.

“How do you even know about that?” He asks, brows downturned, blushing.

And okay, you were not about to out Peggy as your source (you’re not entirely sure if she’s asked Steve dancing yet, and if she hasn’t, tattling on her doesn’t seem like it’d help her chances). So, you just shrug. “Word gets out, _especially_ word about super soldiers who swing on any girl they see,” you say, punctuating each word with a sharp jab to his chest.

He swats your hand away, though when you keep at it, he smacks it, grabbing it, holding it down, lacing it with his own. You give him an annoyed look at that, but before you can say anything else, the bed begins to shake a small bit.

You and Steve turn to look at Bucky, curled on his side, body shaking. Steve’s face softens, turning him over. And he’s laughing. Eyes closed, lips curved upwards, amusement clawing from his body. His chuckles are gravelly and tired sounding. “Steve’s kissing girls left and right,” he laughs more now, arms wrapped at his stomach. “It’s like some horrible dream where I’m turning into the invisible one.”

Steve laughs at that next, shaking his head. “Both of you _relax_ , I didn’t kiss her—” he makes a point to explain. “—She kissed me.”

You shake your head, smacking it into Steve’s chest. “Yeah, well you didn’t stop her.”

“Give the man a break,” Bucky speaks, tired, tugging you out of Steve’s lap, down next to him. “Pretty sure the last girl he kissed was you—”

That warrants a swift punch to his bicep, though he just lazily tugs you closer.

“—No wonder he’s desperate for some romance,” and you can feel his smug smile against your ear.

You sigh, relaxing down, feeling Steve sink down next to the two of you, a heavy arm draped over both you and Bucky. “You want romantic, I’ll _give_ you romantic, asshole,” you say, though your voice is a soft hum against Steve, who’s now crowding you as well.

“Yeah well what can you do,” Steve sighs, and you can feel yourself drifting off already.

“Doesn’t matter, cause I already took care of it—” you begin.

“Uh-oh,” Bucky says, voice quiet.

“What’d you do?” Steve asks then.

You bite down a smile, throwing your leg over Steve’s waist. The three of you slowly getting more knotted together. “Just what needed to be done,” you yawn (which really, was improbable because the three of you needed to be out the door and headed to base in less than two hours, though this? Yeah, it for sure was one of those naps that would go from thirty minutes to six hours if you guys weren’t careful). “For the greater good,” you mock the two of them simultaneously.

✯✯✯

_“Oh hello!” Private Lorraine had smiled at you. Far too cheery than she had ever been to see you. Really, normally she was quite rude and stuck up._

_But then word got out that Steve made it a point to cram himself in the same flat as you (which always seemed so pointless when Colonel Phillips had offered him his own place so many times. Of course, he did now, what with Steve being worthy of his attention. Turns out bringing home over a hundred men from past enemy lines was admirable). And suddenly people (women) were really interested in you. Funny how that works._

_“Hello,” you nod back. It was a simple greeting, really, but Lorraine’s smile just widened._

_“Here are the files Steve told me you had asked for,” she says, making a point to hand them to you. Which, really, was weird._

_“Uh,” you frown a small bit, but don’t let it linger, taking the files. “Thanks.” And you begin to walk off. Stark had something important he wanted to show you, or so he said. New weapons for the Commandos, was it? Regardless, he wanted your input._

_“Actually,” she calls out to you, hand raised in the air. Ah, there it is. “Could you do something for me?”_

_Your brows furrow more this time. “Right—something for you, and what is that?” Because why in the world was she being nice to you? What when two weeks ago she walked right past you when you said, ‘good morning’? And what about all those times she completely ignored you when you spoke to her? Or, well, tried to talk to her, you suppose._

_Suddenly you were someone to her, and why? Yeah, she kissed Steve (And you knew Peggy wasn’t happy) and sure both of you shared a place—but, oh hell, what did that really have to do with anything? She smiles a small bit. “I was just wondering, I don’t know, if you knew if Steve was seeing anyone or not?” Damn, it sucks that she sounds hopeful._

_You bite your lip, nodding, then pursing your lips to the side. “Seeing anyone, gee,” and you rub your neck looking down. “I dunno if I’d call it that,” and you taper off, because yeah, no, Peggy hadn’t asked him out yet (you don’t think) and sure they weren’t a ‘thing’ yet. But surely, they would be, right? Just a matter of time, right?_

_“Oh,” Lorraine says, and she sounds disheartened. “I knew you two lived together, but I hadn’t realized,” and she points at you and then the files in your hand. “I guess—I mean it makes sense.”_

_“What?” You say, not sure you follow. What did you and Steve living together have to do with him seeing someone especially since—_

_Oh._

_Oh!_

_“Right!” You say a bit too loudly. “Me and Steve, Steve and I,” you nod. “Me and my Steve.”_

_She pouts a little bit, but that mean ‘better than you’ look is tight in her eyes suddenly. “Well he didn’t seem too bothered when he kissed me,” she smiles, rather meanly. “Sorry if that bothered you.” She was not sorry._

_Ohh, so this is how it’s going to be? You think, lips tugging to a smirk. You knew damn well between you, Steve, and Bucky, you could be ferocious with words the same way they were with their bodies. You pout a little bit, your own mirthless smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you say, way too smug. “Though I don’t think he’s a guy you want to keep.”_

_She scoffs, crossing her arms. “And why is that?”_

_“Because he’s between my legs, like every other week,” you playfully quirk a brow, a cocky twist to your lips (you’re trying to mimic Bucky, though you’re sure you do him no justice). “That super soldier serum does wonders.”_

_You don’t stop there though. “When I see him out here? I don’t even speak to him, and if he wants my time then he’s got to pay up.”_

_“Right,” she scoffs. “Because he’d do that.”_

_You shake your head , tugging your hair back to reveal diamond earrings (really a gift from your parents, and you never actually wore them and today was an exception of that for sure—but shhh, she doesn’t need to know that). “Lorraine,” you say, fondness dripping cruelly from your tone. “I’ve got Captain America wrapped around my finger. If you think that you kissing him bothered me,” you laugh. “You’re out of luck.”_

_Her face is contorted into something almost cruel, something so close to ugly._

_“So, it looks like I’ve got him,” you shrug. “But if you’re so good, then by all means, come and get him,” and you wink, walking away._

_When you finally made the corner away from her desk, you see Peggy standing there, an admirable look on her face as she nods, brows upturned, golf clapping. You laugh, not caring if Lorraine was right there. Your knees start to feel a bit wobbly (you were never great at confrontations, and it’s clear you’ve had your fill for a lifetime—don’t get it twisted, grade school bullies was one thing, but you’re pretty sure you just started a war)._

_“Come on now,” she smiles, taking your hand. “Let’s see what Stark has in store for us today.”_

_“Right,” you say, voice cracking, legs still feeling way too weak under you._

_Once the two of you are past the reinforced steel door, though, she leans down a small bit. “That was amazing, by the way.”_

_You smile, pushing out a few steadying breaths. “Thanks.”_

✯✯✯

Steve whines your name from the washroom, spitting out toothpaste. “I’m going to owe Lorraine a lifetime supply of ‘sorry my friend is an asshole’ flowers now,” and he rinses the toothpaste out of his mouth, grabbing for the towel behind him the same time Bucky does from the shower.

Bucky sticks his head out, brows furrowed (though it looks silly with his hair all wet and untamed). “Back _off_ Rogers,” he seethes.

You roll your eyes, walking the small ways to the dresser, pulling another towel from the top drawer and tossing it to Bucky, who grabs it midair, disappearing behind the shower curtain briefly before stepping out. A deep blue towel clutched around his waist, he turns to the mirror, a hand to his face, eyeing his jaw, seeing if he needed to shave yet. You sit back down on the bed. “You don’t owe her anything,” you call out, Steve’s pulling off his clothes to get into the shower next. “She’s always been mean.”

You crane your neck ever so slightly, watching the muscles Steve now had flexing lightly as he worked. It was so strange that he had muscle at all. Before, he was all skin and bones, (a body, constantly crammed between you and Bucky, in bed, sure). But now? It was like he was the all-American Boy. The all-American Dream.

Like the outside finally matched what had been inside this whole time.

You don’t see much more though, before Bucky’s walking out of the bathroom, door closing a small way behind him. The fact that he’s still dripping water doesn’t stop him from flopping down next to you on the bed.

“I’m sure she means well,” Steve calls from the bathroom, running water muffling his voice a small bit.

“Yeah. _Right,_ ” you roll your eyes, catching Bucky looking up at you from where he’s laid out. “Can you get dressed? We’ve got to go in fifteen minutes.” He just shakes his head, a sure ‘nope’ unspoken.

This was something that Bucky grew into, you and Steve realized early on. He had a strong affinity to not wear clothes, he easily preferred living without it all. In the summer, walking around in boxers or shorts and really nothing else. After showers, the same way he was now, stretched out, barely keeping modest. Even in the winters, if he could help it, he would be in the barest of clothes, preferring to huddle in with you two (even though he was still probably the warmest between the three of you).

Though, what was there to be modest about? When you and Steve stayed short and weak, Bucky had grown into himself. Tall and strong, just like his dad. Muscle tacked easily under his skin; his boyish charm replaced with something strong, robust, powerful.

And you could see it.

The power in his body, running in the sinewy tendons of his muscles. Trailing down the line of his back, the roll of compact muscles at his stomach, dipping lower, even the stress of his shoulders under his uniform.

You press a hand to his chest, though you recoil fast. Shaking water from your hand, groaning.

This just makes him laugh, before he grabs you, tugging you tight against his body. You can feel the damp, heat of his skin soak through your uniform. “ _Bucky, nngh!”_ you whine, struggling against his grip. At this rate, you’re going to have to change your shirt, lest people think you were jumping in puddles on your way in.

Your hands slide against damp skin though, slipping off his chest and next to his head, you’re practically pressed flat together now. Noses almost touching, though from this distance you can see the faintest streaks of blue in his grey eyes. And for that, this whole thing feels worth it.

Though then the warmth is gone and its water seeping through and the struggle continues, the seriousness cut by his smile that destroys your resolve every. Damn. Time.

At some point, you give up, your head smacking against the wet skin of his neck, one leg casually hooked at his hip. And he hums against you, content.

“That was a lot of big talk, for Steve,” Bucky speaks, his voice steady in your skull.

You nod, clearing your throat. “Should’ve seen me after, Buck.”

His body twitches lightly at that. “Yeah, bet you were an unsteady mess after.”

“Couldn’t feel my legs,” you add, nuzzling just a bit closer. He was warm, okay? Though, it’s not as weird as someone would think it would be.

The three of you had been sharing space for as long as these fools stumbled into your life.

✯✯✯

_It was cold during the winter months. The snow soundproofed your corner of the world. Everything silent. Always. And Bucky still went out, trotting in the snow to the local bar, just to get fresh air every now and then._

_(“He’s sick of us, Steve,” you’d say, leaning on the doorway as Bucky tightens his tie._

_“Yup, no doubt,” and the two of you would snicker when Bucky protested, walking off to lace up his boots)_

_He only ever came back later, of course, when the world had gone dark, sliding into the apartment. And you and Steve could hear the dropping of his coat and shoes and the thumping of feet before Bucky would fall on the couch out there. And you and Steve were never asleep, not really._

_So, its simple, then, to get out from under the pile of blankets, out to Bucky. Kneeling next to him, smelling the faintest scent of his cologne, masked by the cold air. “Bucky,” and you’d always whisper it too quietly, too softly for it to really be a noise. What was unmistakeable was the press of your hand to his jaw. “Hey, come on.”_

_He jostled a small bit; he always jostled a small bit. His lips were more red than usual, almost irritated. It’s probably from kissing, or from the biting cold, you think. Though you don’t let a hint of eagerness linger in your touch as your thumb brandishes across his bottom lip. He parts them slightly at that, and you smile, knocking your forehead into his, delicately. “—M good here,” he mumbles, though you don’t move._

_Instead you haul him up a little bit. His weight swaying as you tug him up. “No, you’re good in there, with me and Steve,” you clarify for him, helping him to the bed._

_Steve’s already sat up, pushing all the blankets out of the way, you set Bucky down, the sleepy drunk smile that so fondly pulled at his lips slowly turned into a straight line as he starts to fall asleep._

_And Steve slides down, pressing himself against Bucky’s side, tucked under one of his arms. And you follow suit, on the other side, pulling the blankets overtop of all three of you. Tangling your bodies together._

_Simpler times, really. Bucky came home drunk, dazed from dancing and walking in the cold and kissing? The answer was easy. It was always easy to pull him to bed, between you and Steve and take care of him. Even pressed to the fine lines of his shirt, it was never something to have minded. Because he was there, and him being there was more than enough. Both being there was more than enough._

_It always had been._

_Bucky didn’t always go out, though, and the days he didn’t, when the three of you crammed in together, desperate for all the body heat you could muster. It was a silent agreement between you and Bucky that Steve would get the middle (the same way it was a silent agreement between you and Steve that Bucky would get the middle when he was too tired from staying out to protest). Bucky would tuck Steve’s back tight against his chest, and you’d wrap yourself around his front, crammed together to keep Steve warm._

_(“Deterrent against getting sick,” Bucky had said the next morning, Steve complaining about the knot in his back from being crushed between the two of you all night._

_“I’m not going to get sick,” he scowled next, grabbing coffee from Bucky._

_“Then think about it as a deterrent against stupidity,” you add. “Because you probably have the world record for getting sick, all the time.”_

_“Yeah, and I don’t want to take care of you, punk,” Bucky punctuated.)_

_The truth was, though, that the three of you were always taking care of each other. As much as Bucky and you hated when Steve got sick, both of you were there, always, you with some soup made with what you could scrounge up, and Bucky with hot water and more blankets._

_Even when none of you were sick, when there was nothing to do but laze around in each others company. Bucky would come back home, whistling, the rustling of a paper bag which always gave you and Steve anxiety because it meant Bucky spent money and, really, where did he get that?_

_But then in your lap he’d drop a brand-new book (the one that you had picked up earlier that week, but put back down because of the price). And he’d walk to Steve and drop some new pencils in his lap._

_And you and Steve would share dumbfounded looks._

_“Face it,” Bucky would shrug, walking into the bedroom, tugging his tie loose. “I’m the best.”_

_“More like the worst!” You’d call out, you and Steve stomping into the bedroom._

_“Where’d you get the money?” Steve would ask then._

_Bucky scoffed at you two. “Where do you think?” He’d shrug. And when neither of them got it, he shook his head and turned around, gesturing at himself. “You think someone wouldn’t pay for this?”_

_You and Steve groaned collectively. “C’mon,” you’d prod. “Just tell us, for real.”_

_“No, seriously, that ruins it,” and he smirks turning to untuck his shirt. “Just reap the rewards of my hard work.”_

_It’s a completely logical move, on your and Steve’s part, to pin Bucky to the bed. Each of you taking an arm (because he was really, really strong)._

_And he let each of you have your interrogation fun before the questions perhaps got too close to what he was trying to hide._

_“Did you get a steady job?” Steve would ask, cocking a brow._

_“Maybe,” he chirped, though the tone, the drag of the word, both you and Steve knew he was lying._

_“Ask your parents for money?” You ask, and Bucky scoffed._

_“Yeah. No,” okay, now we’re getting somewhere, because that was absolutely the truth (if the way he deadpanned was anything to go off of)._

_“Sell some of your stuff?” Steve asked, thinking out each word carefully._

_And Bucky’s lips would purse, like he was trying to think of the right thing to say back to that._

_You smirk, looking at Steve. Bingo._

_he easily snapped his arms away at that, though, dragging you and Steve down, a firm arm around each of your necks. He eases up a little bit, placing a hot kiss on your cheek and then Steve’s. “Come on, you two, that’s no way to treat your elders,” he spoke with all the official gusto of a four-year age difference. Followed with, “besides, like I said—it doesn’t matter.”_

_And then Steve grew, and Bucky too. Both of them hardened by battle. More grit to them, and at some point, you found yourself running to keep up._

_Always worried that they’d leave you behind, all the glory of war, the high of doing something for the greater good. Them, out there, punching and kicking, saving lives. While you were stuck inside, strategizing, focusing on numbers, dealing with international borders and policy, sure, but your mind would wander easily. They always reassured you, (“We’re not going anywhere, idiot,” Bucky had said, rolling his eyes, ruffling your hair) but still, you couldn’t help but wonder._

_Maybe not that day, and maybe not willingly. But the war wasn’t a fair player. And soon enough, if they weren’t careful, the would be gone. And that thought was perhaps a bit much to bear._

_After that, though, there was one night you were laying in bed (one bigger than anything the three of you ever had before) waiting to see if maybe tonight, maybe, if you hoped enough, they’d stumble through that door, finally back from the mission they had gone on this time around._

_They did. And you had drifted off too fast to notice it. Only snapping up when the familiar dip of the mattress tipped on either side of you._

_It was dark out, but you didn’t need to have eyes to feel the firm press of Steve’s hand on your jaw, or Bucky’s hand on your shoulder, grounding you. And when your eyes adjust it’s Steve and Bucky, that’s for sure. On either side of you._

_“Back safe,” you murmur to them, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “—M glad.”_

_You feel Steve’s body move with laugher more than you hear it. “Lay down, it’s alright, we’re here now.”_

_And you do as you’re asked, sliding back down, but starting to shift to the left, making room for Bucky, or Steve or whomever you were going to latch onto for the night._

_But Bucky makes a small ‘no’ and keeps you pressed in the middle of the bed. You furrow your brows in protest. No? What did he mean no? Were they leaving on another mission already? God, if that was the case then there’s no way you’d fall asleep now—_

_And then the two of them slide under the covers, tangling themselves around you, and you can’t help the delighted groan escape your mouth as their warmth blankets you, twisting into you._

_You realize, seconds before you drift off, that now, there was a silent agreement between Bucky and Steve. That you’d get to stay close between them, an agreement you weren’t part of—to keep you in the middle, crushed between the two of them, in a way that didn’t seem possible with Steve so sick all the time, or Bucky drunk and cold from a night out._

_It was like a thanks that you never asked for. A thanks for always looking out for the two of them, a thanks for keeping worried, for both._

_Steve, even when his mom died, and he made a point to tell you and Bucky that he could get by on his own._

_(“The thing is,” Bucky pouted when Steve said that. “You don’t have to,” and he squeezed his shoulder. The only affection allowed out in the open for any two men.)_

_And Steve who had always wanted just a bit of peace in his life. Never believed it. There was always something to do, someone to fight, somewhere to be. And you made a point to take the small moments; spending just the smallest bit more on groceries to get those biscuits (the only kind) he could actually eat, letting him sketch you for as long as the light and day would warrant, the two of you walking down the street on the most perfect summers day, And you’d take his hand when you could, each time, and stop there, taking a breath, filling your lungs with fresh air. And Steve would wait with you. “Look at that, huh, Steve?” And you’d flash a smile that really said, ‘I’m with you, if you want me there or not’. Always finding moments of peace in a world who never gave them._

_And Bucky, a winner, who was always welcomed back like a long-lost son who had no blood on his hands._

_(“You’ve got heart, James,” his father clapped him firmly on his back, it was a quiet day, and he scraped his knee stepping between Steve and the bully of the week. But then Bucky stifled a sob and his fathers tack changed. Disappointed. “Never let them see that they get to you.”)_

_So, he hid, from that day forward. He never let people see that things got to him. People who, yes, wanted to hear about him and the Commandos taking down another HYDRA base, but never the details of the poor children, dead, tied to beds and tables and cells. And they certainly didn’t want to comfort Bucky about it, each of them, like his father._

_But you were there, and Steve too. Holding him quietly while he bit back sobs, or even sitting by the bath you drew him after tedious battle. Always giving him your company, sitting on the floor, leaning against the outside, one of your hands lazily dipping against the surface of the water and suds (faintly smelling like lavender). Waiting for him to finally relax into the hot water, making sure he didn’t doze off and drown._

_You wonder, surely it was a long time coming? Maybe, maybe not. Though, you can’t give it much more thought before you’re asleep._

✯✯✯

The shower water stops abruptly, and the ground thumps lightly as Steve gets out, drying off (barely) before wrapping his own towel around his waist. You can feel him walk to you and Bucky on the bed, snorting before he falls on top of you, his body dropping every ounce of weight.

Your face is pressed into Bucky’s neck when you speak, groaning. “ _Steve,”_ and Bucky shivers a little at the sensation. “We need to go soon,” you start again (you might put up with these two, but no way were they going to ruin your perfect attendance record).

Now, surely there’s a time and place, where maybe being squished between two (very attractive, very strong, very _warm_ ) men is appealing. But right now? Well—uh, yeah no it was still appealing, never mind.

“We’ll get to work on time,” Steve assured, you feel one of his hands (so large and solid, now) grab at your waist—though more at the fabric of your shirt. “Looks like you’ll need to change anyways,” and you squirm a bit at he almost playfully massages the material there. It’s already damp, but more so now with Steve’s wet hands pulling at it. Not to mention his wet hair is _drip, drip, dripping_ on the collar of your shirt and your neck.

It’s not comfortable after a brief moment, and your begin to fidget out from under Steve and half-over Bucky, trying to escape all the skin and muscle and odd sensation of being hot, but hot in a way that left you wet—and okay, _not_ like that.

Though, maybe you shouldn’t be thinking about your own personal reaction too much. Because what with you shuffling, trying to figure out one end of the bed from the other, trying to figure out what arm was Steve’s and which leg was Bucky’s, you forget to be careful with what you’re feeling out for. And sure, you feel the sort of soft, cotton-y bunch of towel under your grasp, though when you drag your palm upwards, you don’t expect Bucky to yelp the slightest bit.

And you certainly don’t expect him to arch up into it, especially under your weight and Steve’s at the same time.

Steve huffs from where he’s lazily draped over top of you two. “Found his sweet spot,” and he nuzzles in as close as he can.

“Goddamn troublemaker,” Bucky groans, voice catching in his throat, because you do it again ( _totally an accident_ ) trying to weave yourself out of the two of them. It’s a funny reaction, to you at least. Then again, you’ve always found Bucky funny.

✯✯✯

_You stood up, hands on your knees, puffing out a breath._

_“You’re stupid,” the bully spoke up at you, wrestling you back to the ground. You just pushed him off you, standing back up._

_“You’re the stupid one,” you sneer back. “You okay?” You ask the kid behind you, turning around, seeing him look wide eyed at you from where he was knocked back on the ground. The other kid takes your back as an invitation, kicking your thigh and back bone. And you yelp, falling onto your knees._

_You grit your teeth, turning around and ramming yourself into the bully’s stomach, winding them. It was impressive considering he was a sixth grader and you were only in the third grade then. The kid falls back, pricks in the corner of his eyes as he started to cry._

_You walk away though, offering the fallen kid your hand, which he graciously takes. He mutters out a small thanks and you give him the brightest smile you can muster, introducing yourself warmly._

_“I’m Steve,” he offered himself. “I’m sorry for that.”_

_“Huh?” And you turn back to see the other kid hobbling to one of the teachers on recess duty. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you shrug. “I always get in trouble for this kind of stuff.” Steve looks at you with even wider eyes. “What?”_

_“Me—Me too,” he began. “Though my—other friend, he used to help me out.”_

_“What about him?” You ask, trying to wipe the dirt off the palms of your hands._

_“He’s in the seventh grade now,” he explains._

_Seventh grade meant different break times, one to six went out first, then ate, and then all the kindergarteners and grade seven and eight kids went out after, eating first. Really all it meant was that Steve didn’t have any protection. Meaning that he probably got hurt a lot. And even when you were young, it hurt to think about._

_“Well it’s going to be us two against them,” you demanded. And Steve just looked at you, surprised again._

_“I don’t need your help,” he sounded taken aback, like he didn’t want it._

_You cross your arms. “Yeah right, well I’m still going to do it,” you say, the bell tolling, meaning that it was time to go in and eat. But you and Steve were now stuck in a weird standoff, and all you could think was that Steve must want to die (and you weren’t okay with that) because he was absolutely going to bite the dust one day if people kept picking on him._

_“Hey! Punk!” You hear someone call out close, from behind the two of you. Steve’s eyes dart from you to whoever was behind you and back to you again._

_He seemed… Concerned? About whomever it was, so you gave him a mean smirk and a cool wink before you spun around, winding up your fist (with all the power a third grader could muster), aiming to land a hard punch on whomever it was that called Steve a ‘punk’ (and who, to you, seemed like someone who would hurt him)._

_Though this other kid catches your fist in his own hand easily, one brow quirked, confused. You look up to him, shock clear in your eyes. “Steve, who is this kid?”_

_Steve hobbles a small bit, introducing you. “She winded Calvin Clifford.”_

_The other kid’s eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open a small bit. “You did?”_

_You grunt, pulling your fist out of his grip, shaking out your hand. “Yeah?”_

_“That’s incredible!” The dark-haired boy muses. “He’s like a tank.”_

_“It was easy,” you shrug, an uncertain and mean look on your face. “Besides, he’s a bully.”_

_The kid is looking down at you, brows upturned, nodding resolutely. “You’re a troublemaker—”_

_“No I’m not!” You protest._

_“Are too,” he smirks down at you, pushing you by the shoulder the smallest bit (to which you push back way harder)._

_Your homeroom teacher seems to appear from the corner, calling your name. You, Steve and the other kid turn to look. She summons you with the curl of her finger. And you wilt a small bit. Hurting a classmate was not good, and you and Steve missed the bell to go in. So, it’s safe to say you were in trouble._

_“I’m Bucky,” the other kid spoke now, offering his hand for you to shake. “Bucky Barnes.”_

_Your brows furrow at that, it was clear that he and Steve knew each other, which was whatever. But why did he care who you were? You didn’t care who he was, that’s for sure._

_Still though, your parents raised a somewhat polite young child (or so they think). So you smack his hand. “Whatever.”_

_And your teacher calls you louder now, more upset._

_“Alright!” You scream at her, immediately regretting it, because before you could probably get away with warning. But you were going to get a lifetime’s worth of detentions now. And who would protect Steve then? Good going, you think to yourself._

_Bucky and Steve are looking at you like they’re impressed, almost bewildered by you. And Bucky sniffs a small bit. “See, troublemaker.”_

_And you shoot back a scowl before walking off with your teacher, who grabs you with a firm hand on your arm, dragging you away._

_(What you don’t hear is Bucky turning to Steve once you’re gone. “I like her,” and Steve just snorted starting to walk back to the cafeteria. “Well she doesn’t care for sure.”)_

_Two weeks._

_Two weeks, every day at lunch (“be glad you don’t have to stay after school as well,” your teacher scolded). It was in the cold, dingy classroom right down the hall from your homeroom. You could see the playground outside the window, though the rules were strict enough. No getting up from your desk, no talking, no writing, no reading, no thinking, no breathing, nothing. You’re there as punishment and that’s that._

_You’re halfway through your second detention, you and two other kids are the only ones in there, the room dead silent but for the tick, tick, tick of the clock hung on the wall. The door opens, the gym teacher (a portly man with a thick head of hair) is there, and he looks furious. And who’s with him?_

_Bucky Barnes._

_Your eyes go wide, and he smiles big and bright when he sees you, a small gash on his forehead, a bandaged scrape on his right knee. Taking the seat right next to you._

_“What did—” you begin._

_Though the teacher sitting in the at the desk in the room shushes you fast. “No. Talking.” She reiterates._

_You bite back the urge to scream at that. You just lean in a bit closer, eyeing the small cut, looking down to his knee. “Steve?” You mouth._

_He smiles even brighter, shaking his head ‘no’, jerking his chin to the window._

_You frown, trying to think of some explanation, though you don’t know anything about Bucky. You sigh instead, crossing your arms on the desk, resting your head on them. You close your eyes, focusing on the clock. Trying to count out the tick of seconds to sixty._

_You get to fifteen before you open your eyes, and to your surprise, Bucky’s done the same, resting his head on his arms, looking right back at you. He looks less full of air now, though. Eye’s a little tired looking. Clearly whatever he was up to was catching up to him, but still, he looked content._

_It was a daily occurrence, after that. You’d go to detention and without fail, Bucky would show up every day, moments later, some teacher at his side, shoving him into the room, annoyed._

_And every day, you’d mouth, “Steve?” And every day he would shake his ‘no’ and jerk his head towards the window behind you._

_And as soon as detention was over, you two went your separate ways. Never spoke a word after. But during detention? You two would just stare at each other, talking with your eyes. You, constantly just trying to figure out what he was playing at, because who ever looked happy to be in detention? And Bucky? Well he was thinking whatever he was thinking, you didn’t wonder much._

_And it was easy after that, you can’t remember when exactly you had warmed up to Bucky. And you can’t remember when Steve warmed up to you, but soon enough the three of you were inseparable. And well, things didn’t change much after that._

_No matter how long you thought about those two weeks you spent in detention, still trying to figure out Bucky like he was a stranger, nothing changed._

_How much later was it that you finally realized?_

✯✯✯

“I’m not a troublemaker,” you huff, smiling against Bucky’s neck, managing to claw at the empty space to your left, freeing yourself from the pile of muscle. And just like you were trapped, you were now almost free. The air is far more chilly against your damp clothes now that you’re not surrounded by two impossibly warm bodies.

But you were going to change now anyways, so really, no big deal. Steve gets off next, which gives you plenty more room to get up and go change now. Though when you flip over to get up, he pushes you back down into the bed, your spine pressed into the mattress. One of his hands pinning you down by the wrist. You look up past him, belated, eyeing the ceiling. And you take your unpinned hand, beginning to try and pry his hand off.

Though you make little to no progress before Bucky’s towering over you now, too. Pinning down your other arm. “ _Guys_ ,” you whine. Because _fine_ , huddling up is one thing, falling asleep mashed together is another thing. Working together? Also, something different. The three of you were the same through it all, though.

Everything was a matter of circumstance. And these circumstances? Well, the truth was that it wasn’t the first time you had found yourself in them. But nothing ever happened, because the three of you always tread too closely to the thing that all three of you collectively ignored.

You think, maybe at a point. Before war, before everything was always hanging in the balance, it would be easy to be reckless. But not now. Not when the possibility that you’d lose so much was always lingering in the back of your mind.

And to make either of them (or both of them) hold onto that? Them knowing they were leaving you behind like that. It wasn’t fair. They already gave so much, and you too. This was just one more thing to add to the mix.

They’re both well dry now, and you briefly think that there’s no point to the towels clung around their waists, but that thought leaves you half-laughing letting out an explosive breath. “This is ridiculous,” you say, frustrated, chewing at your bottom lip, a furious blush at your cheeks. They don’t let up though, both staring you down. You look back, of course, almost expectantly, which _no, no! You don’t expect anything,_ you think.

You’re so easily getting reduced, your eye’s darting between blue and grey and the gentle stroke of _someone’s_ thumb across your wrist. And you can’t help but test the restraint of your wrists and feel more than relief when they don’t give. It wasn’t relief, no. But perhaps a close cousin.

Desire, perhaps.

Though, you think maybe that you never really thought about boys and kissing or any of that before you met Steve that day. And later, Bucky too. And suddenly you couldn’t get enough. Even with the three of you growing up together.

You never thought about any of that stuff before. And after the two of them? There wasn’t anything else you _could_ think about. And now, you had the two of them, eyeing you like you were worth something.

Eyeing you like you had something to offer them in this circumstance. These painfully improbable circumstances. Because you three were for sure going to be late, but you don’t _care_ anymore. Not right now.

Not with the dip of the bed on either side of you, or the slight ruck of your shirt (the barest flash of skin visible, which felt so astonishingly modest compared to Steve and Bucky over top of you, barely managing to keep theirs). And the way you felt?

The way they _had_ to be feeling? Each of them staring at you in a way that was so familiar, but then not, all at the same time?

Your mind races a little bit, but for the defiant look you give the two of them. It’s not like you guys were eight anymore, crowded on Steve’s bed, reading a book. At some point, you grew up, and it was impossible to ignore changes.

The way that sometimes, early in the morning, Steve will have wrapped his arms around you, almost aggressively, leg tightly holding you in, and the press of something, firm and long, against your back. And the same with Bucky, who would almost roll on top of you, half asleep, leg slated between yours, something poking your hip. And you could feel his lips part when he adjusted, warm breath waking you up.

The three of you had grown close, and it almost felt like your bodies were your own as much as they were each other’s. It was easy to undress and redress and shower and stare because there was nothing you hadn’t seen before. And almost all of it, you had touched, or felt (other parts deliberately less than others, but the point stands).

And even for you, less noticeable, sure. But waking up from a dream that you can’t remember, the hot feeling still whirring its way through your spine and down to your feet, only to find yourself clinging onto Steve’s back for dear life. Until you manage to swallow your breaths and ease up, unhooking your thigh from his waist (and the rare occasion you found your lips to his skin) and moving away, even if you only bumped into Bucky at that.

It was some—unspoken _thing_ , that the three of you never talked about. Or if you did, it was a joke, something funny, something to be had. But not really.

There was no joke now, not in the way your breath catches when Bucky’s other hand begins to trace at the bare skin at your torso, moving up, taking the shirt with him.

Steve stares at his hand then too, and you whimper something incoherent, body aching at the feel of it involuntarily.

✯✯✯

_The details of when are a bit shaky, though it couldn’t have been more than a year after you and Steve graduated high school, finally turning 18, the three of you finding that small little place (that you could barely afford) in Brooklyn._

_Somehow, though, each of you managed to scrape by together. And it was enough to call them your home._

_Steve was gone, it was a far too perfect day outside. And all the windows were open to let the breeze of a warm summer’s day in. And Bucky had left early that day, some odd job that he was going to work for the day._

_You were humming the smallest bit to yourself; Bucky’s record player was going to be out of commission until you guys scrounged up enough to replace the needle that was worked to all shit. You were writing. Something small, a children’s book. Thinking that maybe if you worked out a story Steve could illustrate, and you guys could slap your names on something (though, later, the war hit, and there wasn’t time for fantasy)._

_There’s the familiar scratch of keys at the door, and you crane your neck to see, wondering if it’ll be Steve or Bucky._

_It’s Bucky, though you hop to your feet, because he’s drowning in bags on bags of things. “You went grocery shopping?” You chuckle (trying to rest the unease of money being spent), taking some bags from his arms, balancing them yourself, walking to the kitchen._

_“Yeah, hey--! Careful with that one,” he hops after you, setting the other bags down on the limited counter space._

_You quirk your brow. “Why? What’s in it?” You test carefully._

_He looks smug, reaching in, grabbing a small but vibrant bouquet of flowers, gently wrapped in some newspaper and tied with some thread._

_“Oh, those are beautiful,” you smile, opting not to make a joke out of it. The day was too nice, the world was too peaceful. You take the flowers and smell them: They’re fresh, though the smell of paper and ink is almost just as strong. You walk the three steps to the kitchen, grabbing a glass, filling it with water and transferring the flowers._

_Bucky’s just quietly leaning against the fridge, watching you work._

_You smell them again now, and it’s almost crazy how effervescent they are, how floral they are. You smile a bit to yourself at the prospect of Bucky standing amidst all these different types of flowers and bouquets, trying to pick out the prettiest ones. He must notice, though, because he asks._

_“Hm? Oh, no, nothing,” and you shake your head, holding the flowers up. “Steve?” You asked, because they were all gorgeous shapes and colours, no doubt Steve would spend hours drawing every excruciating detail until his hand was cramped up and the sun was beginning to set._

_Bucky shook his ‘no’ head, jerking his chin at you._

_You smile and nod at that. It was sweet. You turn to put the flowers next to the tiny window in the kitchen, delicately running your hand over one of the petals of a pinkish flower._

_The window was small, and the view was nothing special, just a brick wall, but the wooden wainscoting of the window reminded you of school. All dark and old and did nothing to stop the cold from seeping through._

_And thinking of school makes your head heavy, because it was never fun, and it was always dingy. Everyone was always mean. Well, everyone except for Steve and Bucky. Now, you take a more defiant look at the window, and in the corners of your mind, you can make out the faintest ‘No. Talking.’_

_“I was thinking that tonight we could take a trip down to the park—” Bucky starts to talk but you’re not listening much._

_It’s like you’re back to—god, how young were you? And Bucky was there, he was always there._

_A scratch on his knee, maybe a cut on his forehead._

_Steve?_

_And he did that, shaking his head and jutting his chin, but back then._

_And you gasp, because it made sense._

_No. You._

_Every time._

_Steve? No, you. No, you. No, you._

_Bucky calls out to you now, poking your shoulder. “Hey, you’re not goin’ all—”_

_And you can feel the joy burst in your chest like fireworks. Bubbling the only way happiness did when it was pure and simple and just meant to be. You wrap your arms around him, tight around his neck, making him stumble a small bit. And you’ve got tears of joy in your eyes as you each sway from foot to foot._

_“What’s gotten into you?” Bucky says way too fondly, running a hand through your hair, holding you tight._

_It escapes you, how do you explain that you understood now. You got it. It was you, everything he did back then. For you. To get to know you. Because he wanted to. And it makes sense, because he was stubborn as all hell. You laugh at that, though it comes off like a sob. It all was making sense. Every little bit. Everything._

_He brings a hand to your jaw, though, fingers pressed firmly to your skin, the feeling sinking deep in your bones, to your heart. “I just really like the flowers,” you manage to say, but your voice is a little choked up. It doesn’t seem like he’s totally bought, though, so you lean up, placing the lightest kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Really, Buck.”_

_He smiles, red lips tugged perfectly. “You’ve got me feeling like the luckiest guy right now, you know that?”_

_It’s such a line, because Bucky could have anyone he wanted. Easy. But you let it mean something, because sure, he probably said it to girls whenever he went out (he didn’t), but right now, just the two of you? It could mean something. “Well there’s this guy that makes me feel pretty lucky too,” you smile, watery eyes._

_Bucky scoffs at that, walking you two backwards to the couch. “Who? Steve?”_

_He tips the two of you backwards, and you fall between his chest and the back of the couch. The words are sweet on your tongue._

_“No, you.”_

✯✯✯

You don’t expect a thing, because this? This was the actions of words unspoken.

Briefly you wonder at what kind of silent agreement Steve and Bucky had, if things every got to where they were right now. You bite your lip at that. Had they ever talked about it? The late nights the two of them would go for walks to see the sunset, and you had stayed in, writing or sleeping, or reading. Do they wonder about you? Are they ever—well, _were_ they ever curious?

You think now, though, that they must have been, they must be now. In some capacity. Because Bucky’s hand is winding, not deliberate. Feeling every part of skin that he can, sliding up agonizingly slow. It’s not a new sensation, Bucky’s always wound an arm around your stomach, pulling you in, or pinched at your torso when you were being annoying.

But in this context, in the context of all your physical reactions. It was new. And Bucky was curious.

You choke on another breath, tilting your head back when Steve puts a hand to your jaw, then, trying to gage your reaction. You can feel his thumb pad over the soft skin right under your jawbone. It’s so painfully delicate, so painfully not his mouth. You hope that you don’t look desperate in the way that you turn, giving access to your neck, though judging by the way that Steve’s eyes sparkle, and his mouth twists into something pleased. You’re probably failing.

He leans in, and you can feel Bucky’s hand tense around your waist as Steve’s lips barely brush the skin there. You try to meet him some ways, forgetting your pinned hands—which makes both of them grab harder.

You become painfully aware of the fact then and there that you weren’t allowed to roam their bodies. Right now, they were curious about you. All the ticks and sensitive spots of your body that they had spent a lifetime cataloguing came out now. Used in a way that you didn’t think possible.

Making you elastic in a way that would make your typically hot headed and stubborn personality roll in any other circumstance.

But then Steve’s tongue, barely, and I mean just _barely_ , shadows your skin. And if you were trying to think before, you’re not now. Your chest rises and falls with anticipation, with _life_. The same spark in you when you beat up Calvin Clifford, but a thousand times more potent.

You think about losing the towels, losing your clothes, hell, losing the whole day. Curtains drawn, and the heat of bodies, all salt and sweat just high in the air.

Though before anything else can happen, there’s a sure knocking at the front door, and the three of you freeze.

It’s borderline impossible to care, and you really just want to tell them to ignore it. But you hear the unmistakeable intonation of hurried French push through the cheap wood. Dernier, the Commandos, no doubt. You deflate at that.

Another mission, probably.

It’s a little easier to get into a workman state of mind at that. You realize that if they had another mission, you’d have to do some strategizing with Steve back at base.

Steve.

Who was, just then, seconds away from sucking on your neck. (Really the only strategizing you could think about at the moment) You groan at yourself for that thought, and Bucky and Steve let off easy.

_“Just a second!”_ Bucky calls out, laying off and walking to the dresser to get some clothes.

Steve lays off as well, grabbing some clothes that Bucky tosses his way. You say plastered to the bed a second longer before getting up, trying to ignore the absolute dreary swoop of chill air that seeps into you.

Bucky turns to look at you, smirking coolly as he works the buckle on his belt. “Getting sleepy?” He asks you.

You roll your eyes, getting off the bed, walking to grab a new shirt. “In your dreams,” you mumble, changing your uniform.

“Aw hell,” Steve whines, on his knees, buried in the closet. “I cant find my helmet—”

You scoff. “You and that dumb helmet,” you say, shaking your head and dropping next to him. You see it easily, thrown in a corner, pulling it out and handing it to him.

He lights up easy. “Always an eye for the good stuff,” he comments.

You chuckle at that, ruffling his hair. “I’m friends with you and Bucky, aren’t I?”

It should be awkward. It should feel weird.

But it doesn’t.

**"Security"**

“It’s safe to say that this next series of missions are a matter of national security,” Colonel Phillips says, talking to you, Steve and Bucky (the rest of the commandos were there, but behind the three of you). “We manage to execute these locations are we’re looking at the greatest advantage we’ve had since this damn war started.” He looks to you. “I need you to think of at least two strategic plans, think retrieval op with extreme time pressure.”

“Yes Colonel,” you nod, falling into parade rest (you ignore the weird side look Steve gives you—because you’re not a soldier so really, what was the point of that?).

He nods. “Rogers, you go with her, strategize,” he turns to Bucky and the others. “You head to Stark, he’s got some weapons that need testing. “Dismissed.”

You and Steve head off, there’s a separate conference room that’s set aside from the huge map set in the common area outside. You had the authority to use either place, but Colonel Phillips stressed security when coming with plans to take down HYDRA, so the private, drawn curtains, dimly lit, locked door, conference room would have to do.

Steve holds the door open for you and once the two of you are in there, the door snaps locked. The only way to get in or out was with a third level agent level or higher (and Steve, being a Captain had no issue with bypassing it, and you—being considered a deeply important strategic asset—also had no issue bypassing it, even if you didn’t have the official clearance).

You set down the few files Colonel Phillips had handed you about the plans. It would be up to you to dream up strategy, maps, best time of execution, all that good stuff. And you were never one to shy away from an honest challenge (the war is full of those), so you were excited and more than willing.

Opening the first one, it talks about a new energy source that HYDRA had managed to get their hands on. Nothing too big, though _wow_ it was powerful. You can’t help the wrench in your gut, thinking about Bucky and Steve facing off against the weapons HYDRA must be building with this damn thing. The file had scheduled operations of a train that ran through some Swiss Alps, nothing you couldn’t handle, surely. It's something that would be easy for the Commando’s to prep and execute, surely. It’d be easy enough.

That being said, you open the second file, this one, well, it was more intense than the first one, and certainly a follow up. “Phillips wants us to extract the energy source?” You ask out loud.

Steve walks over from where he was eyeing the map set out on the table. “What? What’s the point of that?”

You shrug, dragging a finger down the file, eyeing the details. “Maybe just a lock and secure. They don’t want the energy source in the hands of anyone,” you shrug.

Steve deadpans. “Yeah, right, that sounds like the United States Government.”

“A girl can hope,” you murmur, eyes scanning the file, flipping through the pages. “This is a retrieval op, all right, though maybe more complicated than they’re letting on.”

“Who’re we dealing with specifically?” Steve asks, and he’s leaning over you now, just slightly, but the light press of his chest at your arm and side is evident.

You flip the page, paying no real mind (you’re used to it, regardless of how pleasant it is each time). “Arnim Zola—”

“German?” Steve asks, putting his own finger to the page next to where yours is, reading.

“Swiss,” you point out, dragging your finger down. “And Johan Schmidt, German. It looks like they lead the division.”

“Oh,” Steve drags, nodding. “I ran into them, when I went to save the hundred and seventh.”

“Really?” You ask, surprised.

He nods. “Thought they looked familiar.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, you never really told me what happened when you came back,” you frown, turning to face him, leaning against the large desk in the middle of the room.

Steve shrugs. “It wasn’t anything—well, Bucky would disagree, but it wasn’t hard.” He looks back to you now. “They were doing experiments, had most of the infantry in cages.”

You clench your jaw at that. “That’s disgusting,” it was inhumane and cruel, not to mention downright abusive. It hurts to think of Bucky in that situation, next to the very soldiers he must’ve been leading. What’s nice to think about is that Steve brought Bucky home, alive and well. Or so that’s what it seemed like.

“Yeah, it was awful,” Steve sighed, nodding solemnly. “And Bucky…” He’s about to say, but he looks back up at you, catching your eyes. He shakes his head. “No,” he decides. “Though when I managed to get him out of there, we ran into Zola and Schmidt right by the exit.”

“What happened?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Well,” Steve chuckles embarrassed. “Let’s just say Schmidt?” And he points to the picture of him in the file. “Doesn’t look like that.” He shakes his head. “We were on a metal bridge, and Schmidt pulled the lever as soon as Bucky made it across—the whole place was fire around us, and I told him to get out of there—”

You smack him hard on the arm. “ _Without you?”_ You scold. It’s times like this where you can really see that Steve hasn’t changed in the slightest. 

✯✯✯

_“—And if I see you guys again—” Steve grunted, getting pulled away. “—You’re dead!”_

_“Every. Fucking. Time.” Bucky seethes as he drags Steve away by his shirt collar._

_You watch the two of them struggle a bit longer from where you’re placing the rest of your books in your book bag. Though when you see the distinct shape of Steve, howling and screaming, with Bucky dragging him away, you chuck the rest of your books in your bag at a breakneck pace, running off after them._

_“Hey!” You call out, once you get close enough, though, you can see the distinct scratches and cuts on Steve’s face and knuckles. “Steve—you’re bleeding.”_

_“Yeah well what else is new,” Bucky mutters, annoyed._

_“Hey—Bucky hold on!” You run in front of him, trying to stop him from walking, Steve still getting dragged behind him. But no success. “What was he even—What were you doing?” You ask Steve then, hopping backwards in front of Bucky, trying to keep up._

_“—upid kids picking on a rabbit,” Steve starts._

_“Shut it, Steve,” Bucky starts, still dragging him away._

_And you get it, Steve had an affinity for getting punched. He always had something to prove, but this? Yeah, not cool. So you plant your feet firmly, pushing back on Bucky’s chest. It stops him in his tracks, which catches you off-guard, but you wipe the surprised look off your face. “He’s hurt, Bucky—”_

_His face contorts into something angry. “He—”_

_“No,” You demand firmly. “Bandages first, lecture later.”_

_Bucky opens his mouth to object, surely. But he snaps it shut a moment later. “Fine,” and he grits his teeth, tossing Steve into your arms._

_You catch him, obviously, putting a hand to his chin, eyeing the wounds. You shake your head. “Idiot. Come on,” and you walk Steve to the park a little way down from the school, holding him up slightly when you notice the limp in his step._

_Once the three of you are there, you set Steve down on one of the too-large rocks placed around. You get down to a knee in front of him, unzipping your bag. It became standard procedure (once you became friends with these two clowns) to carry around some first-aid supplies. Just in case Steve was having an off day and couldn’t handle the competition (he had a lot of off days) or if Bucky decided to interfere (which he always did). Even for the occasional time either of them let you interfere (not that they wouldn’t let you, they, well, just liked proving their own points)._

_“So, what were they doing?” You ask Steve again, calmly, pulling out some alcohol and paper towels to disinfect the scratches and dirt from his knuckles._

_“Calvin Clifford and his goons—they caught a rabbit and were torturing it,” Steve said, and you could tell he was pissed about it by the way his grip tightens around your hand when he speaks, (either that or the sting from the alcohol). “They were gonna cut off an ear—and I—”_

_“You wouldn’t let them,” you nod. “I get it.”_

_Bucky scoffs, from where he was looming next to you two. “You’re still an idiot.”_

_“the thing was helpless, Buck, I couldn’t let them—”_

_“Yeah I know,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I just don’t get why you had to interfere.”_

_“You don’t get why I had to interfere?” Steve scoffs, turning to look at him now. You were beginning to wrap some gauze around his knuckles as the two of them spoke. “I wasn’t just going to stand around and do nothing.”_

_“Yeah well maybe you should have,” Bucky bite back, shaking his head. “Look at you,” he gestures to Steve’s face, the gash on his cheekbone and the purpling bruise under his eye made his point clearly._

_“Look at me? I don’t care about me—” Steve starts again._

_“Yeah, I can tell,” Bucky shouts. You look up to him from where you’re crouched. The sun had started to set a small bit—the winter months were coming which meant less sunlight. It would be dark out soon. It was lucky for the circumstance, though. It was colder so the park was empty and there was no way Calvin (years later—still causing problems) would bother showing up._

_“Then what the hell is your problem?” Steve shouts back. “If you know—why do you care—”_

_“Because, Steve,” Bucky pushes back. “There are a million rabbits on this fuckin’ planet—” he leans in, towering over you two. “But, there’s only one—” and he stops himself before he can say it, sighing, shaking his head and turning away. “Forget it.”_

_You groan, placing a small bandage on the cut on Steve’s cheekbone after cleaning the blood away. “Bucky,” you start calmly. “He wouldn’t have, you know, he wouldn’t have done that to Steve.”_

_“Yeah well if he wouldn’t, someone else would, and if no one, it’ll be his asthma or he’ll get a cold or pneumonia and we—” his voice wavers, and you see his head duck down. “We won’t be there.”_

_Things were a bit wobbly in the world at this point, yeah, but not by much if at all. It was easy, for you to get up and tug Bucky around to face you. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though so you prop his chin in your hand. “I’ll be there,” you demand he knows. Tugging him over to Steve. “And if I’m there, you will be too.”_

_Bucky lets out a shaky breath—one of the few times he’s ever been so open. “Right—right,” he steadies himself. Face going back into something strong and unreadable. He turns to Steve, shaking his head but then smiling at the now bandaged wounds on him. He smirks, pulling Steve’s face against the cool metal of his belt buckle. “Punk.”_

_And Steve hugged back, the deep light and cool weather shielding the two of them from scrutiny. “Jerk.”_

✯✯✯

“Yeah, without me,” Steve keeps going casually. “It didn’t seem like I’d make it, but Bucky,” he chuckles again. “You should’ve seen his face, I told him _‘just go! Get out of here!’_ and he goes _‘No! Not without you!’_ ”

You laugh, because that sounded like Bucky: Staring at Steve across pits of fire and searing metal, telling him that he wouldn’t leave (a man far more disposable than Steve) without him. “That’s painfully heroic—of both of you,” you smile, rolling your eyes fondly, turning back around to look at the files. You keep reading, flipping through the pages, pulling out a pen and making light marks at the most important aspects. “Just glad you two came back safe,” you say absentmindedly.

You don’t expect, for Steve to pull you around by your hips to face him. Dangerously close, dangerously ignorant of the fact that right now? You two needed to be focusing on the mission plans for probably the two most important operations of this whole damn war. “Hopefully that’s not all though, right?”

Your brows furrow, and you try to push out of his grip, but he doesn’t let up much. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” and he shrugs. “You’re sure something hasn’t changed? Between us?”

“You and me? Or you and Bucky? Or you and me and—” You freeze up, because surely Steve wasn’t talking about the very fortunate? _(Unfortunate?)_ Situation the three of you were in before making your way to work today. Right? “Are you talking about…?” And your hand absently thumbs over the spot Steve had too slowly lingered over earlier.

He bites his lip, clenching his jaw, eyes trailing to the spot. “Yeah.”

You nod, and look down. Hoping that you can hide the absolute pounding of your heart in your chest. “I don’t—I don’t really think anything changed.” And it’s the truth! Because even after you three had entered that territory together, you thee each also (just as easily) left it. You walked around and got ready for work like it was any other day.

The circumstances of your relationship with the two of them hadn’t gone to shit, and you still deeply considered them important to you. It must not be the answer Steve is looking for, though, because his hands drop, and he looks almost upset? “Oh,” he says and nodding, shaking his head a small bit. “I just thought you,” and he points to you, going a small bit quiet. Was he eyeing your lips? No. No way. “Just thought you wanted it too.”

“Right,” you squint your eyes, because you thought it was pretty clear that you had wanted it, if the way you had acted so desperate for anything in the moment played out. “I thought,” and you clear your throat (because was this _really_ a conversation you were having?) “I thought it was pretty clear what I wanted.”

Steve looks back to your eyes. “The—you were okay with that?”

You snicker. “I don’t know if you were there, but I thought I was doing a pretty good job _asking_ for it,” you emphasize, watching Steve’s eyes widen at the words.

“Asking for it,” he echoes, voice cracking a small bit before he clears it. “But you said nothing changed?”

You nod. “Yeah, nothing changed like it wasn’t weird—I thought it would be weird, but I don’t know. It just wasn’t.”

“Yeah I agree with that,” Steve smiles. “So,” he tests, bringing a hand to your jaw. “Might as well go with it.”

“Until it gets awkward?” You huff a small bit, tilting your head with the slight pressure of his hand, giving him access.

“Right,” and he leans in slowly, as slow as the day would warrant. You tug him a little impatiently, hand on his tie, pulling him down (and all you wonder was when in the world had your hand made its way there?).

And he kisses gently, and you let out a relieved breath. Really, you were wondering if this was happening for real, and that kiss was as good as a pinch. He kisses again, and you pull him by his tie down and flush to your neck. A sure sign to keep going.

“You have no idea,” he says between his work. “How long we’ve thought about this.”

You arch into him, because how else are you going to say that _‘yeah, me too pal’_ in a way that’ll actually get through his thick skull.

Though, it’s short lived as the door to the conference room opens and you and Steve are magically on very distant, very, very, _very_ far ends of the room. Both of you trying to breathe easy and Steve clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

“Um,” Private Lorraine says from the open door. “Sorry,” her brows furrow at Steve, who looks completely put together except for the rampaging blush on his cheeks. “Colonel Phillips had some more files he wanted me to drop off.”

“Ah,” you nod. “Thank you,” and you cough, standing awkwardly before reaching out to take the box from her. She eyes the two of you suspiciously again before leaving and closing the door behind her. You and Steve both visibly deflate once she leaves. “That was close,” you aim for a smile, but it comes off less lighthearted, before you set the box of files down on the desk.

Steve smiles in the same way—though it feels more like a grimace. He walks back a small ways over. “We should—” and he pinches at your waist again, making you yelp.

“ _Steve_ ,” you scold lightly. “Work first,” you turn slightly to look at him, opening the box of files. He frowns at that.

“It’d be so easy though, right now,” and he’s tugging at you _again_ (to think that you thought _you_ were the needy one). You give up after a minute, letting him mold you every which way he wants (pushed back on the desk a small way, him slotted in between you, hands at your waist). “And really, why did we stop? You already cleared it with her that we were messing around,” and he’s nosing at your neck as he speaks.

“Gee, I dunno,” you swallow. “Public decency?”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” he smirks.

“You and Bucky never cared, did you,” you start, turning your head to his now, catching his too-blue eyes in your own.

He shakes his head. “No.”

Your brows furrow at that. “Why?” It was an honest question. Bucky could always have whomever he wanted, and now Steve was no different. So, the question was important. Why you? Why the kid that you felt like they just got saddled with when, really, they could pick _anyone_.

Steve gives you a look, that sort of reads like ‘ _you’re really asking me this? Really?’_ but you don’t let up, and after a minute he sighs. “Because we know you, we’ve always known you, and we like you.” 

The plurality of the sentence is kind of jarring because sure, one of them is nice, but two of them? They’ve always been a handful. And you remember what Steve had said earlier, ‘ _You have no idea, how long we’ve thought about this’_ and your stomach ties into a firm knot that shakes your breath. “Both of you,” you deadpan. “Both of you have thought about,” and you swallow convulsively, ignoring the shiver in your back. “Each of you have thought about this?”

Steve gives you an encouraging smile. “Yeah,” he chuckles lightly. “Today wasn’t even the first time we’ve tried—I don’t think.” Your brows furrow, trying to think of another time where maybe they had tried, Steve clocks into your look. “Think the night I brought Bucky back.”

✯✯✯

_That had been a fun one, the night was spent celebrating, laughing, drinking (a lot of drinking). Bucky was still convinced that he could outdrink Steve, and the added beers and shots were in no way helping his thinking process._

_You were at the bar, setting down empty glasses, buying a new round for the Commandos, when you catch Bucky turned, looking at you, before he turns back around, cheers-ing something with Steve, before taking a large sip._

_“Bullshit you don’t get drunk,” Bucky slurred a small bit, smile getting cockier by the minute._

_Steve just shook his head and smiled, looking down. And you rolled your eyes, walking over to the two of them. “I think he’s being honest right now, Buck,” and you pat his shoulder, taking a seat in the booth with the two of them._

_“Yep,” Steve nodded, as a waitress came back around with even more alcohol. Setting it down. “And besides,” he began, dispersing the drinks amongst the three of you. “I’m always honest.”_

_“Alright,” Bucky scowled, looking at you now. “Me and you then.”_

_You huff a laugh. “I don’t think that’d be a competition in the slightest,” and you stretch out. “I’m a lightweight—always have been.”_

_“Then it’ll be easy right?” Bucky pushes, sliding a few shots to you._

_You quirk your brows. But take the shots nonetheless. “Sure, why not.”_

_Famous last words, really._

_“Buck—” you laugh, your head is spinning. You can barely stand straight, but somehow, he’s managed to haul you up, dancing from foot to foot like he hasn’t had a drop. “I look like an idiot.”_

_“Not in a million years,” he smiles down at you, lidded eyes but that charming smile that he always manages to keep—be it covered in dirt and blood, or now, drunk and happy._

_You smile and look down, cheeks starting to blush from drinking and his gaze—painfully bashful. And you don’t entirely recall what you were talking about, but he tilted his head back, laughing loudly, easily, and you can’t help but watch the line of his neck go taut as he moves. You swallow, just a little bit more convulsively than usual. It’s an easy move, to rest your head against his collarbone, right at the crook of his neck. He and Steve (everyone really) had cleaned up and his aftershave was light against your nose. “God, I’m never letting you go anywhere again,” you say before you can stop yourself._

_He laughs again. “I’m not Steve,” he smiles. “Not gonna break that easily.”_

_“It’s not about that,” you shuffle a small bit, looking up at him. “I don’t want you anywhere but here,” you point down. “With me and Steve.”_

_It was improbable. In every way possible, it was the most childish, outlandish, thing you could have said. The world was at war. And a war was won with people like Steve and Bucky, with people like you too. And that being said, there was no possibility that any of you would be able to stay put with each other. Hell, all this time you were spending in the U.K. was going to end any day now. It was just a matter of time before you each were shipped out somewhere else. ‘Where your Country needs you the most’ and that, unfortunately didn’t at all mean together. Even if that’s what it meant to the three of you._

_“Alright, alright,” he nods. “With you and Steve, promise.”_

_You know that he doesn’t mean it. The same way that you desperately try to mean it, but you both let it be real for the moment. “Speaking of Steve,” and you and Bucky both turn, catching him sitting at the bar, watching the two of you. And in the moment, you get a brilliant idea. “Let’s—we should go.”_

_Bucky’s brows furrow and he looks back to you. “Okay?”_

_“Come on!” You’re fully laughing now. Tugging Bucky forward, his hand in yours, and behind him, Steve’s hand in his._

_“Where are we going?” Bucky asks, eyeing the hallway._

_“Our place,” you laugh now, dropping his hand to pull out keys and unlock the door to the apartment you had gotten. “Well mine, but with you and Steve here it’s—” you pull both of them in by their ties, the door closing behind them, turning on a dim lamp. “It’s ours now.” The two of them look large in the small space. But they don’t object. “It’s not much,” you begin. “But with you two, its home.”_

_Steve smiles, it’s wide and all teeth as he bounds towards you and crushes you in a hug, lifting you off the ground. “Home,” he echoes, smiling into you. You giggle back, wrapping your arms around his neck, nodding with his words._

_The two of you hear a door creak, and you turn to see Bucky eyeing the bedroom. “One bed, huh?”_

_Steve puts you down and you nod sheepishly. It had never been a problem before. Beds were expensive and so was heating, it was always one or the other, and really, when you shared a bed, it kind of took care of the heating issue. So, it was a no brainer, really. But who knows, maybe things were different now, maybe…Maybe they needed space._

_But then Bucky leaps at you next, pulling your hand to the room. “Well then let’s go to bed,” he says it casually. The same way he had said it so many times before, but this time it fills your heart up with such relief and joy. Because it meant that things were the same, and that they’d stay that way. Thank god, seriously._

_Before you can get completely tugged away, though, you grab Steve’s hand, hauling him in there as well._

_It’s a clamor of arms and clothes and Bucky’s practically tearing off his official Sargent uniform, belt then blazer then his shirt—tugging it out of his pants. You’re kind of watching in awe, because you know already that Bucky has an affinity to just, not wear clothes, but he’s taking them off with such precision and, clearly, an extreme prejudice._

_Though, when his shirt comes off, you can’t help but notice the lightest pink scarring, right at his waist, trailing up from his thigh. He doesn’t stop though, and you hear the ‘clink-swish’ of his belt buckle as you step forward, brandishing a thumb over the scar. His head rolls to the side at the feeling of your thumb running over his skin, but you don’t really catch it._

_“Who?” You ask, feeling Steve crowd in behind you, his hands on your waist._

_Bucky stops, pants hanging loose around his torso. “Some asshole working for HYDRA,” he shrugs. “There are a lot of ‘em though.”_

_“I’ll kill them,” Steve says resolutely. “All of them.”_

_You click your tongue, shaking your head. “If violence was the answer, the war would be over by now.”_

_“What’s the answer, then?” Steve asks, and you can feel his head rest on top of yours._

_You shrug, trying to think (as well as you can for being inebriated), “love?”_

_Bucky laughs. “Right. Love.”_

_You look at him, mildly incredulous. “Love is absolutely the answer! It’s—it’s always the answer!”_

_He leans in. “Right,” he mocks, pushing you by the shoulder lightly. You respond the way you always have: Pushing him back way stronger._

_“What’s wrong with love?” You chastise, pushing him again, this time though, he falls back, hitting the bed with a heavy thump._

_“Nothing, nothing,” he smirks at you. He’s absolutely pushing your buttons right now. And it works, because drunk you doesn’t have the resolve of sober you._

_So, logically, you rip off your own uniform, not breaking eye contact. Bucky is looking at you, and every look is coated in shock. Because you, unlike him, did not have an affinity for being naked. Though right now (socks, but no pants, a simple t-shirt, but no blazer) it didn’t seem to matter much. You climb onto the bed after him, wrapping your arms around his neck._

_You start kissing him with no real destination in mind. His neck and cheek and eyes and chest, over and over and over again. Somehow, in your drunken state you determine that this, yes, is the answer he’s looking for._

_You stop for a moment, and notice that he’s sort of just basking in it, the same way he sprawls out in the sun. You smile. “Don’t you look happy.”_

_He opens one of his eyes up, looking to you. “Got me feeling pretty lucky right now,” and one of his hands snake under your shirt the smallest bit. You flush at that, suddenly becoming quite aware of the fact that you and Bucky were both pretty naked, and on top of that, you were on top of him, straddling him, now that you sit up._

_Bucky sits up to meet you next, his chest pressed to yours. Nose to nose. You look to his eyes, but he’s just staring behind you. Your brows furrow, following his gaze, realizing that Steve is still just standing there—Wide eyed, rampant blush._

_Well that simply won’t do, you think. If you and Bucky were bordering naked, Steve should be too. Equal opportunity, you think (still not sober in the slightest). So, you turn, crawl to the foot end of the bed and begin tugging at Steve’s official Captain uniform. No belt tonight, but a blazer, two buttons, which is easy enough. You kneel upwards a small bit, pulling it down from his shoulders. It falls to the ground with a satisfying shift, and you run your hands upwards on Steve’s button down._

_You pop the first button, but he catches your hand. You look up to his gaze—eyes intense, the room was dark, but the barest bit of light from the moon outside caught on his blonde hair, his blue eyes. You give him an encouraging smile, brushing your lips over his knuckles, until he lets go._

_Once he does, you keep at it, button after button, until you get to his belt buckle, to which you start to tug his shirt from his pants. Letting him shuck that off as well. The belt was easy enough, the slide of leather and metal was damn satisfying. You sit back, letting him work off his own pants (which he does easily enough) down to his boxers._

_He looks back up at you, clearly flustered and deeply nervous. But you give him another reassuring smile with hopeful eyes. You tug his hand towards you and Bucky. “Come on,” you say, your voice a lowly whisper. “You’re home.”_

_His face melts into something pleased, joining the two of you. And you can’t help but moan a small bit when his warm body pulls you flush to his chest. He’s sitting cross legged, and you’re in his lap, Bucky was sprawled out, but now he’s sitting with his legs hooked over Steve’s. You can feel Steve tracing the skin on your neck with his nose, his lips brushing lightly, and you shiver at the feeling, which just makes him hold on tighter. “Home,” he mouths into your neck._

_You smile at that, but then Bucky’s got a hand on your thigh, tracing circles as he pushes into you: his turn to kiss you absently, apparently. Because his lips wander to your eyes and neck and lips and cheeks and collarbones. You sign into the feeling: Warm, fuzzy, surrounding you, all arms and legs and hot against your constantly cold fingers and feet._

✯✯✯

Your brows furrow as the memory gets hazier as the moments pass. “You guys never went through with it?” You ask Steve.

He shakes his head. “No, no,” and he starts to trail your neck with his mouth. “You were tired and drunk, and Bucky had just gotten back.”

“But you wanted to?” You ask, eyes sliding shut.

“Both of us. More than anything,” he replies, smiling when your body curves to meet his.

“We can fix that, right?” You ask, hoping you sound less breathless than you feel.

Steve smiles and shrugs, stepping away (you try to ignore the assault of cold air on your limbs). “Yeah, why not.”

You tug him back now. “Then let’s fix it,” you practically moan.

He sighs your name. “ _Work_ _first_ ,” he says, cocky.

You whine and okay, fine, maybe you _were_ needy. Maybe all three of you were needy.

And, honestly, even though the world was hanging by a thread, who gave a flying _fuck._

You had your boys, and they had you.

And it was impossibly more than enough.

**"Lost"**

Work does come first.

In fact, the minute you and Steve had perfected those mission plans, the Howling Commandos are sent off in the next possible moment.

And just like that, Bucky was gone.

Really gone.

Forever.

You had run out past base when you got word that Steve was back, and you were excited to see him and Bucky again.

But the minute you see him, you see that his face is downright dreary—body shivering like he was cold and weak again. Your smile falters a small bit, in fact all the Commandos seemed to look shaken up.

“Steve,” you smile, hugging him. But the way he hugs back—its desperate, and he’s shuddering. You absently stroke a hand through his hairs, trying to keep your breathing normal and hold out the death grip he’s got on your ribs. You search the crowd for Bucky, but you can’t see him out. “Where’s Bucky?” You ask, trying to hold out, but he just squeezes you tighter.

You don’t realize it right then, but Steve had been crying into you, rattling his absolute disbelief to you. It’s only when Peggy puts a soft hand to your shoulder, that you look up to her, and she shakes her head ‘no’ that you realize.

It was easy, or you suppose, difficult, to feel the silent tears from your own eyes. To bite back the sobs, you had so many times urged for Bucky to release.

Because Steve had brought him back from the dead once before. But this time? He couldn’t. And it was eating him alive.

Bucky had always been there for the two of you. For Steve. And the one time he needed Steve to hold him. He couldn’t.

✯✯✯

_That was a beautiful day, all blue but for the streaks of gold from the sun dancing in the sky as the sun flitted between clouds. Steve was sat by the window, sketching something he had sat on the windowsill, and you were dancing foot too foot to some record Bucky had grabbed a few days ago._

_You had nothing to do that day, so what better than to prance about, book in hand, reading as you carefully twirled around the spare pieces of furniture around the room? It was a rare day where you found yourself restless and yet with nothing really to do._

_You had spent a great deal of time bugging Steve. Trying to get him to dance with you, but he was far too focused on the bunch of ferns he had collected (Along with some interesting rocks) and getting their shadows just right._

_So, you let him be, twisting and turning (and ignoring the way you felt yourself going a bit dizzy). Though you perhaps should’ve been a bit more careful—because you knock over the cup of water you had set down on the small side table you had._

_“Uh-oh,” you groan, and Steve chuckles and shakes his head, not turning to look at you._

_“Better clean that up,” Steve pokes._

_“Yeah I’m dealing with it,” you smirk, hopping back to the kitchen, grabbing the old, musty mop from the corner of the kitchen between the fridge and wall. You make your way back over, mopping up the mess, picking up the glass (which luckily wasn’t broken)._

_The next bit is a little fuzzy, but you had been dancing with the mop (shut up—it was cute...Probably) when you catch Bucky briefly as you spin again. You slow down—you had been laughing at something Steve said, but then he’s hauled you off the ground, and you laugh louder, excitement pooling in your gut._

_“C’mon, kid, you spilled shit, really?” He asks you, arms tight around your waist as he drags you away._

_You swat at him, giddy smile, still dizzy, before hugging him back. “I’m not a kid—well, not anymore.”_

_“Yeah I can tell,” and he tosses you down on the bed. Shaking his head, leveraging himself over you, held up by his arms. His eyes trail down to your clothes, and he plucks at the fabric. “This—This is mine.”_

_You purse your lips. “Uh,” you drawl. “No, it’s not—no way, it’s totally mine.”_

_“Right,” he nods. “Cause you never take my shit.”_

_“Oh no,” you smirk. “I always take your stuff—that I don’t deny,” you prop yourself up a small bit then. “But your clothes? Please—you’ve got no style,” and you knock your forehead into his. “That’s why I only take them when I’m gonna be at home all day.”_

_He laughs at that, shaking his head. “Troublemaker,” he smirks, wrestling you a small bit, pinching and poking and tickling you._

_You gasp and squirm at that, because you were painfully ticklish, and you hated it. And this, of course, he knew. “I—I’m not a troublemaker—!” You laugh almost involuntarily trying to escape, but no luck. Every moment you brush freedom, Bucky’s cradling you back with a hand wrapped at your waist, pushing the pressure points there. Or a hand scratching at the underside of your thighs._

_Every inch of you sensitive and overstimulated. You laugh and squeal and gasp again, “S—Steve!” You cry. “Steve, you’ve gotta save me—” you shout out between bouts of trying to keep Bucky’s hands at bay._

_And Steve who was just a small little thing—was stealthy quiet, sneaking up on you and Bucky easily. Tackling him with enough of a force for you to get away._

_And get away you do, beating a retreat to the ground in front of the couch. Down here, you’ve got a pretty sound idea that Bucky won’t find you if you were quiet enough. Though you were still tingly, and you were still laughing a small bit. You go a bit more silent as you hear Bucky manage to wrestle past Steve and walk back out to the main area._

_He's cocky. “I wonder where she went,” he snickers. And you hate how excited you feel. How Bucky has always made you feel._

_Even when the three of you were little kids, and you each played hide n’ seek together. Bucky would prowl all the same—and you’d always feel the excitement buzz in your bones as he just misses you._

_Now was no different, he slides around one side of the couch, and you slide the other way, sneaking back into the bedroom, grabbing Steve (who was smiling silly on the bed) and quietly jamming the two of you in the cramped closet, closing the door a small ways._

_“He’ll never find us here,” you tell Steve, his back pressed to your chest. His head resting against your neck. You feel him snicker and nod. You open your mouth to say something else, but then Bucky re-enters the bedroom and you can see him looking almost genuinely confused. You can’t help but giggle at that, but not before Steve’s hand snaps up and closes around your mouth. And it’s so delicate, and soft and you can recall, how even so small and fragile, Steve could always earn the same love and affection he got now._

_It's a no brainer to kiss his palm, your hands wrapping around him, pulling him closer. His hand drops a small bit, and you push your head next to his, rubbing in just a bit closer. The smell of linen and a clean shirt was crisp to your nose. And you sigh, content._

_Content at Steve, the feel of him against you, at the way he smelled so sweet and forgiving. Content at the smallest sliver of sunlight that pooled in the room, and you were willing to bet his eyes were perfect in the light._

_So when you turn to look at him, trying to get the answer to your personal bet, and he looks back at you—eyes so blue and sharp, yet so soft and kind, you smile and kiss his nose. And you kind of hope Bucky doesn’t find you just yet, because sure your tailbone was starting to hurt against the tough ground, but just existing with Steve when he wasn’t just drawing or sick or being stubborn as all hell was incredibly rewarding._

_And it’s easy to think, that you’d stay like this. Existing with him for a lifetime, sharing space. Sharing air. The record is still going from the living room, but it’s slightly muffled amongst the clothes and shirts—and suddenly, your energy is calm._

_It had taken Bucky wrestling you and Steve crammed here with you to really work all your energy out. And it’s this moment that you realize that you need them. That, and you also realize how much you are like both of them. A mix, really._

_When Bucky finally opens the closet door, you’ve wilted under Steve a small bit, he’s stroking your arm with his thumb, and you roll your head up, smiling blithely at Bucky. It wasn’t that long, surely, but it was more than enough._

_He clicks his tongue, Steve starts to get up, and you follow suit. Bucky just wraps the two of you in a tight hug. “Found you,” he smiles, your weight wavering the three of you._

_“You always do,” Steve says into his shirt._

✯✯✯

“Where have you been?” You sit up and scowl that night when Steve finally comes home. It’s late, or is it just early? Regardless, you had stayed up, biting your nails and worried dead for Steve, because he hadn’t told you where he was going. He didn’t tell you a damn thing. And right now, he doesn’t respond when you speak to him. It was impossible for him to tire easily, but right now? He looked downright exhausted. You want to push, because it was cruel of him to act so… So… well you don’t know _what_ he’s acting like. But you do know it’s because of Bucky.

It's because of the Bucky shaped hole in every single part of your lives. It was thick and palpable, and your heart ached at the fact that you will never get to feel his hands on you again, or his gaze, or his voice. A lifetime saved over once, but now? Not so much.

“ _Steve,”_ you prod again. His back is turned to you, him pulling off his coat, kicking off his shoes. Letting it all fall to the ground. But he continues to ignore you, trailing into the bedroom. You suck in a breath, lifting yourself to your feet for the first time since you got the news—taking a moment to adjust so your knees don’t buckle.

You follow him into the bedroom, catching him sitting on the edge of the bed, his uniform half off, head in his hands. You don’t say anything, but you sit next to him. And the two of you stay like that for a while, just silent. You say nothing, but you know Steve is crying again. Though you wonder if he had ever really stopped. You wonder if you had ever really stopped.

And this. This is what you were worried about. The fragility of it all. Of everything. How painful was it now? And how true? This was the real world that the three of you were living in. Your bubble had popped.

See, it was that easy. The world picked Bucky off like he meant nothing. Like he was worth nothing. The pieces of your life were falling, but in no way were they falling into place.

Everything was shattering—it _had_ shattered. And that was it. That was the end of it. Or so you suppose.

“Do you hate me?” Steve asks, his voice is quiet, frail, like he could fall apart as easily as cotton candy in water.

Your eyes widen at that. “How could you ever think that,” you say, voice stern and borderline angry. How could you hate Steve? When he was just as hurt as you, when he had _been there_ when Bucky had—when Bucky had—

“I couldn’t save him,” and for the first time what feels like ages, he looks at you, and your heart snaps in half. The resolute pain. The demand of his emotions to _feel_ so strongly—so strongly in a way that he probably wishes he could numb himself too (super solider serum be damned).

And you can hear the words unspoken. ‘ _I’m not good enough, I wasn’t good enough’_. And it just isn’t fair. Steve doesn’t deserve to feel responsible. It wasn’t right. “And that’s okay,” you say, keeping your voice steady. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t okay, but right now? It had to be. Because it really wasn’t Steve’s fault, there were a million reasons at play as to why what happened did.

Surely everything would be fine, one day. But for now, you know it’s you and Steve. It’ll be you and Steve until it was just you, or just Steve. And that’d have to be okay.

It’s the wars world, the three of you just living in it. Trying to tough it out, trying to make it out alive. But Bucky hadn’t—and really, what point was there now?

Steve doesn’t seem entirely convinced, though. So, you get up and stand in front of him, letting him rest his head on your abdomen, your fingers lacing in his hair. Carefully, you let your hands trail down, pulling his shirt from his body, and he lets you, easily.

The moment next, you’ve gotten to one knee, the same way Steve and Bucky both had before they left for a mission. And you begin to work the belt on Steve’s pants, gently pulling them from his body. “There,” and you give him the softest smile you can muster. “Lie down, okay?” And he does as he’s asked. You move efficiently, turning off all the lights, closing the blinds, before crawling into bed after him, tugging the blankets over both of you.

You lace yourself around him the same way you had a million times before, placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Let’s stay home tomorrow,” he manages to say to you, large hands wrapping you in. And you nod, feeling Steve’s broad shoulders, the heavy tack of his muscles (all worked to shit, but still strong), the steady pound of his heartbeat. And you bite you lip to stifle a sob as your eyes water. Though, you must fail, because he pulls away a small bit, cold blue eyes looking at you. “What?”

You smile bitterly, blinking tears out of your eyes, resting your chin on the top of his head. “You feel like him.”

“I know.”

✯✯✯

_“I see a swimming pool, maybe even our own plane,” Bucky had started, pointing a hand to the sky. There were clouds out to spare today. “What do you say?”_

_You snort. “Planes are expensive, no way,” and you cross your legs, smiling up at the sky, eyeing the rolling clouds, trying to find shapes or things. “We’d never be that rich.”_

_“You don’t know that!” Bucky laughs back. “Maybe when we’re older, everyone will have a plane,” and he pushes his open arms upwards to the sky, as if he was beckoning the world for a hug. Bucky was always an optimistic person—in the most ridiculous sense of the word. He was an optimist, yeah, but in a way that was so deeply improbable. In a way that only Bucky Barnes could make seem charming and not mad._

_“I hope we can have a garden,” you add after a minute, and Bucky turns to look at you. “It would be pretty, and Steve could pick them to draw,” you turn now, looking at Bucky. “I know he really loves drawing people, but flowers are nice too, don’t you think?”_

_Bucky smiles a bit weakly at that, but nods._

_It was days like today, where the world had plenty to offer—the blue skies and white clouds, even the sun shone softer and the grass was greener, that you and Bucky and Steve would find yourself playing until you were exhausted. Only to find yourself the way that you were now, laying out in the grass, indulging each other._

_But Steve was sick and quarantined, and his mother wouldn’t let you and Bucky drop by to say hello for more than a few minutes (no matter how much the two of you fought tooth and nail that you could help him get better. “He needs his rest, and I don’t want you two getting sick too,” it was sweet, she was a kind lady)._

_“When we live together, we never have to leave Steve alone when he get’s sick,” Bucky realizes, and he sounds far too happy about it. Then again, neither of you ever entirely fancied leaving Steve when he got sick before._

_You nod. It was nice, and it would continue to be nice. It was nice that it was a ‘when’ you guys live together, not an ‘if’. “What do you think Steve would want?”_

_Bucky squints. “Big windows,” he hums. “Lots of space—we could do that, right?”_

_You smile, the three of you were kids with no real admonition for cost. “How hard could it be?”_

_“And one bed,” Bucky tacks on right at the end._

_“What?” You laugh a little bit. “That’s silly.”_

_“It would be like a sleepover but every night,” Bucky adds. “Plus, that way we’d never have to be away from each other,” he adds, a bit quieter than the rest of his desires._

_You snicker a bit. “Right, because sharing a house isn’t enough.”_

_You had been plucking at the grass between the minimal space between the two of you when you feel Bucky’s hand lace with yours. Your heart goes a little tight with worry—just for a second—before you relax. You had been friends with the two of them for a while now, but sometimes affection was a route you weren’t entirely sure about. You think now it probably came from a place of feeling like you didn’t deserve it. That affection was something to be earned in that of itself._

_And Bucky, who was so loving and endearing (and who would grow up to be a complete gentleman) never made you work for his praise, or his bickering. You got it, just for existing with him. He gave it the way he gave everything, always, with every fiber of his being._

_He cared, deeply. The same way you cared. But it was so easy for him to show it. It was so easy for him to be confident in his choice. That choice being you—Steve too. So, you turn back to him again, smiling and squeezing his hand._

_“Fine, one bed,” you agree._

_And you three had grown, and you had moved out. And realized that money was harder to come by than you each thought. But, still, Bucky managed to make all your dreams come true._

_You never got a pool, but you would relax in the rain._

_“Come on!” Bucky would yell out to you, trying to get you to walk a bit faster under the downpour._

_And you, someone who loved the rain, didn’t mind one bit, so you laugh, shivering, smiling. “Oh relax,” you’d grin. And you’d tilt your head up, letting the rain wash away your fear, your hatred. Letting the world wash away your transgressions, becoming a clean slate. “We’re already drenched, no point in rushing home,” you sigh, trying to stop your teeth from clattering together. It had been a beautifully sunny day not even two minutes ago, and the rain had come—the way so many things do—swallowing the light. The whole world. And suddenly, it was just the two of you._

_Bucky groans your name, like it pains him to say it. “Come on, I don’t need you getting sick too,” and he took off his blazer, wrapping you in it._

_You weren’t any warmer with it on, but the action itself made your heart bloom heat. You smile wide, sighing. “My love is as a fever, longing still,” and you spin a small bit, the arms of Bucky’s blazer fanning out a small ways. “For that which—” and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. “For that which longer nurse the disease, feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,” you look to Bucky, hands clutched around the lapels of his blazer, gripping it tight._

_“What are you talking about,” he says, but it’s soft. Fond. Welcoming in the way Bucky is only ever able to make you feel._

_“The uncertain sickly appetite—to please,” you step towards him, resting your head on his chest and his hands naturally wrap around your waist the way they always have. You look up now, smiling, sighing at the scent of rain and his cologne, drunk on it. “My reason,” you kiss his cheek. The rain always did this. It unlocked the most uncertain aspects of your personality, it made you stronger, braver. “The physician to my love.”_

_And then he bends down a bit, kissing your forehead, an honest smile tugging at his lips as he holds you tighter, the rain still pouring down on you two. It was comfortable. It was downright perfect. You surely meant to finish what you were saying, but it’s easy to forget what you were talking about with Bucky looking at you the way he currently was._

_It’s even easier to look lovestruck as he takes your hand in his, pulling you back to the apartment._

_You never had a plane, but Bucky always managed to make you feel like you were flying._

_“You’ve been cleaning all day,” Bucky groaned, leaning next to you as you wiped down the small table by the kitchen for the hundredth time._

_“My parents said they were going to drop by,” you say, serious. “This place needs to look spotless, otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it,” you justify._

_“It looks great,” Steve smiled at you as he walked past with a few books he replaced on the small shelf on the far wall. “I’m with Bucky on this—” you scoff, because when was Steve ever not_ _on Bucky’s side? “They only said they’d drop by tomorrow, so we have time.”_

_You straighten up. “Time,” you echo. There was something there, something that you surely needed to write about, perhaps. Something you needed to focus on—_

_“Exactly,” Bucky added casually, hauling you off the ground, which elicited a yelp from you. “We’ve got time to clean,” and he was carrying you back to the bedroom, a vigorous feeling winding through you. “So lets relax.”_

_Whenever Bucky hauled you off your feet to go with him was always random in a calculated way that never made any discerning sense to you—not that you cared. You were always more than willing to go (and in the past you may have left the stove on for a moment too long, or left the tap running—only to hop away for the brief second Bucky would let you, assuring you’d be right back, making sure the small flat wouldn’t catch fire before bounding back to him). Now was no different._

_He hauled you up and away, literally whisking you off your feet. And the way he would hold onto you—like you weighed nothing, like you were as light as a feather. Like you were flying._

_And now, with the benefit of hindsight, you suppose that you might as well have been._

_You three could never manage a garden in the small spaces you shared, but Bucky always tried to bring you and Steve flowers when he could._

_In the moment, though, with you and Bucky laying on the grassy hill, the clouds rolling by at a snail’s pace, he laughs with you. “Okay,” he finally says. “A big house with lots of plants for Steve, and one bed,” he turns to look at you, squeezing your hand. “You’re a sucker.”_

_You frown. “Why?”_

_“Because,” and he looks back up to the sky, his eyes glittering. “You’re stuck with me and Steve.”_

_You smile, “well, only a fool would fall for you,” you squeeze his hand, smiling._

_“And I am a fool.”_

✯✯✯

It was Steve next.

The war continued like Bucky had never died, and well, so did you, and Steve.

Steve had left on that mission—the _last_ mission—with a vengeance to stop Johan Schmidt (rather, the Red Skull) and HYDRA too. He was looking for revenge, redemption. Anything to find peace.

You had begged him to let you go with him, because Colonel Phillips and Peggy and every other spare hand was headed into this battle. And Steve had demanded that you stay back. (“I’ll be back, we’ll go back to Brooklyn, it’ll all be over—I’ll make us that fancy French thing Dernier introduced you to. Okay?” “What? So you can burn our place down?” And he smiled, kissed you softly, and hugged you so tight you thought he was trying to weave the two of you into a knot).

But then Peggy had returned, and it was you who she hugged and sobbed in to, and you didn’t need her to tell you that Steve was gone. It was clear. And you put on a strong face and ignored the burning in your chest and throat and the pricking behind your eyes. You told her it was okay. That it would be okay, in time.

“I finally got to ask him, though,” she sobs bitterly. “I finally got to ask him to come dancing.”

You nod, brows downturned to focus on everything but crying and hurting.

That night, you crawl into bed, drenched in Steve’s clothes and Bucky’s cologne. All their things were still scattered around the apartment, like they were still alive. Like they had just run out quickly for a stroll.

It’s too large, the bed. And it feels wrong. It feels, empty. And finally, you cry. You were alone for the first time in years.

Really, truly, alone.

**"Found"**

SHIELD was born from World War Two, Peggy and Howard were some of the original founders. They offered you a job immediately, and you—who was really planning on doing nothing more with your life decided _what the hell_ , and took them up on it.

The third day on the job, you’re introduced to Arnim Zola, and slap him across the face. He adjusts his cheek, turning back to look at you. “I’m sorry—” he begins, but you slap him again.

Peggy and Howard just watch from the side. And you think, maybe, you see Howard hand Peggy a bill. But you don’t pay either of them much attention, what with your gaze burning holes into Zola.

“I hope you two don’t kill each other before this first mission,” Howard speaks up, setting a few files between you two.

“No promises,” you scowl, looking away.

✯✯✯

_“What are you doing after school?” Steve asked, hopping after you._

_You snort, continuing to walk down the hallway, tugging your bag just a bit tighter. “It is after school, Steve,” you turn to look at him. All these years later, and the two of you are still a match in height (even though he’s grown to be much more stubborn). He smiles, full and pure and above all else, happy—moments before he grabs your hand, tugging you the opposite way you’ve gone. “What—hold on, where are we going?” You laugh._

_“You’ll see!” Steve says, pulling you along and along._

_To you it didn’t seem like there was much thought to the way he was twisting and turning, even once the two of you were out of the building._

_But, slowly, his destination becomes clearer, on the corner of the street there’s a small ice cream truck. Hell. Yes. Steve knew you well, and before you can protest, he’s handing over a crumpled bill, turning back around with your favorite flavor and his._

_You take the cone graciously, savoring the sweet flavor that seems to just, melt in your mouth. Steve was no different, talking on and on about something he had done in art class that day, but through it all he had managed to demolish his ice cream. You enjoyed listening, why wouldn’t you? Steve had such a beautiful way with words when he was talking about the things he loved. Be it art, or nature, even you and Bucky. It was easy to get lost in conversation with him (as easy as it was to get completely lost in those perfect blue eyes)._

_It's not much later that the two of you are sitting on a bench, sides pressed together as you let Steve’s low voice push through you. You smile and nod as he talks, resting your head on his shoulder. He stills a small bit, as though he’s worried that if he moves it’ll scare you off, but it wouldn’t._

_It could never._

_“Relax, Rogers,” you smile nuzzling in just a bit closer, putting your hand on his, lacing them together loosely._

_He huffs. “Rogers? Really? What am I? My dad?” And then, “great, I forgot what I was talking about.”_

_You smile, turning your chin to rest on his shoulder, looking at him (at his lips) painfully close (to not just close the distance would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it?). “Stephen? Steve? Grant? Stevie?” You prod. “Tell me what you want me to call you,” you whisper to him, and you smile sweetly, your eyes begrudgingly meeting his, before fixing back on his delicate, soft looking lips. “Anything you want—I’d do it, I’d say it.”_

_This time around though, you don’t have to move the mere seconds of space between the two of you, as Steve does. He kisses you, closed mouth and sweet from the ice cream, you briefly wonder if this is what heaven feels like. Because kissing Steve Rogers was perfect. It was sincere and kind and secretly hungry in a way he’d never push._

_You can’t help but smile into it, which he pulls away at. And if kissing Steve Rogers wasn’t perfect, then the way he looked right now absolutely was (the slight pink blush parading his cheekbones, punctuated with his sparkling eyes). “You were talking about how you hate it when lighting changes in the art room,” you murmur to him, going back to rest your head on his shoulder, far too content with what felt like so little. Still, your heart was full and fuzzy._

_He chuckles a small bit. “I didn’t think you were actually listening.”_

_You smirk. “Of course I was listening,” and you look back to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’d do anything you want me to.”_

✯✯✯

How much time did you spend working alongside Zola, when you finally warmed up to him? It must have been ages, you think, time seemed to push past you, these days, however.

Steve and Bucky had become pictures in your apartment (all over your apartment), their belongings carefully kept, but tucked away. You never forgot about them, and really, sometimes when you worked, or slept or ate, you felt them there. You could hear Bucky’s annoyance and Steve’s quips, and occasionally you’d find yourself shuddering into a bowl of something, crying before you could stop yourself.

“You have great value,” Zola commented one day. “Value too great for SHIELD, don’t you think?”

You frown at that, flipping closed the file you had been reading, the SHIELD building was empty aside from the low hum of cleaners scurrying about. You and Zola were rather committed to the projects that were assigned to each of you. You also realized (at some point) that both of you had spent a great deal of time recovering from the past, from war. That, strangely, he wasn’t all too bad. Or so it seemed. “I don’t think so, SHIELD is an important place to work, don’t you think?”

Zola shrugs, casually, he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. “I think the world was meant for more.”

You cock your head to the side, brows furrowed, what was he getting at? “Care to elaborate?”

“I think I’d much like to _show_ you,” he gets up, offering a professional hand. You eye it for a moment longer. But take it nonetheless.

“Where are we going?” You ask, following Zola out of the building.

He hails a taxi (a skill that took him ages to perfect), the two of you get in. He looks at you, smiling. And very casually goes, “Russia.”

✯✯✯

_“C’mon, what are you dragging your feet for?” Bucky laughed as he pulled you out of the small little gathering Colonel Phillips was holding. He had invited a plethora of different officers and cadets from other bases, as well as a few new faces. Each of them, the face of the war, of the good fight. But neither you and Bucky found the rhetoric quite enticing, and had opted to sneak out the back doors while Steve—sorry, Captain Rogers—busied himself inside with the others._

_“I’m not dragging my feet!” You snap back, though it’s hard to take anything you say seriously with the way you’ve got your hand clasped in his, or with the way you’re laughing._

_It was a gorgeous venue, somewhere old and grand but renewed all the same. You had spotted the rickety playground, a far way back on the property, from inside, and pointed it out to Steve and Bucky the first moment you got. Steve was about to say something, though Peggy (looking as charming as ever) had pulled him away to talk to some other esteemed guests._

_After a few glasses of champagne (okay more than a few) and having Steve continually introduce you, or Bucky, or both of you to the other guests, you were a tad bit bored. Flitting off to the side of the room, leaning against one of the grand white pillars, watching as Bucky charmed a young cadet. Her head was tipped back in laughter, surely in response to smart he must have had said. You notice his hat is neatly tucked under his arm and his posture is nothing short of completely professional. Though you start thinking about the knots he’d probably beg you to work out once the three of you go home, and you look down, ducking to hide the blush you were certain was forming on your face._

_You never thought about it much, but the truth of the matter being that Bucky and now Steve had always seemed to bring a flock of attention wherever they went—and rightfully so, they were each dashing, strong, young men. You could be blind and still see the appeal. You wonder, the way you have a million times before: why you?_

_You were who you were, and somehow, through everything, Steve and Bucky picked you in the same capacity that you had picked them. It was enough. More than enough. Because even with Bucky flirting with girls at bars or like he was now, he had never brought one home—and he had never spent a night out._

_He always came home, you realize. He always picked you and Steve. And you feel a little dizzy at that (or was it the alcohol?), because that was a sure choice. And it’s not like he was exactly having mind-blowing sex with you and Steve, but he still picked the two of you._

_Well, we could change that, you think to yourself. Though you smack the thought away, clearly the champagne had affected you more than you realized._

_And even Steve, who was like a magnet now, had never let himself get carried away with the purring of the girls who flocked him. It was so strange, how easy it all came to him, when before everything, not even one would’ve looked his way._

_Though you did. Bucky did. Even Peggy. And you suppose, that’s why he picks each of you over the others._

_Now though, you and Bucky are swinging, slowly gaining momentum in the cool night air. You’re talking about something of sustenance, you’re sure, but the whipping of the cool air as you speed up leaves your face flush and slightly breathless._

_“Hey, jump off—no, don’t get too high,” Bucky directs, hopping off his own swing, walking in front of you, just out of reach of your swinging legs. “Yeah, just like that, jump, I’ll catch you.”_

_You slow down severely. “What—No, Bucky,” you grunt on the upswing. “That’s a horrible idea.”_

_“No, it’s not,” he smiles, standing a bit straighter. “I’ll catch you, come on.”_

_You swallow your fear, slowing down a small bit before you leap off the swing…And Bucky catches you, his strong arms around you. “You—You caught me,” you smile at him wide eyed, surprised._

_“Told you I would,” he smirks, and your eyes dip to down to his mouth. Deep red lips bitten silly from drinking tonight. You put a hand to his jaw, running a thumb over his bottom lip, something you had done millions of times before, sure. But he sighs into it now, dropping the weight of himself into your palm a small bit, his eyes going soft and lidded as he looks back to you._

_You swallow a little involuntarily at the sight, but in the moments next you kiss him, just as easily as you had jumped from the swing. Trusting he’d catch you, the same way you’re trusting he’d catch you now. And he does. Bucky kisses back. It was fond and close to ardent, though it lasts only a second (or several—you’re not exactly counting) before you break off. Opting to bite your own lip in protest, as you stare at his, noting they’re a little bit more bitten now, a little more red now. He looked kind of perfect like this, honestly. Carefully though, you feel Bucky drop you back down to your feet, letting you acclimate to holding your own weight (though really, he wanted to keep holding you—forever if he could)._

_“Hey!” You both turn, to see Steve walking towards you two. “You guys didn’t wait up for me?” He calls out, waving a hand in the air._

_You shuffle from Bucky, starting to jog to Steve and Bucky joins you. “Didn’t want to bother you, Captain Perfect!” You holler to him, and when you’re close enough you wrap your arms around his chest, grabbing at the fabric of his uniform, letting it bunch in your hands as you sigh into him—He was always warm now, like the radiator the three of you could never afford._

_Bucky comes up too, and Steve slings an arm around him holding him tight against you. You look up for the briefest second, catching Bucky kiss Steve on the cheek before rubbing his face into his neck, whispering something you couldn’t quite make out._

_Steve chuckles looking down to where you’ve burrowed into his chest, and you barely catch Bucky’s eyes looking down at you too—from where his forehead is pressed into Steve’s neck._

_“Ready to go home?”_

✯✯✯

Zola doesn’t elaborate much further on the detail, but he certainly wasn’t joking.

The two of you had taken off on a private jet (after you convinced him to let you go and pack a couple things), though mainly you wondered when in the world Zola had managed to get his hands on a jet—and how in the world he afforded it in the first place (you also wondered if it was really worth following Zola to Russia on a whim? You had never been overly cautious before, but even for you, this was pushing it).

You’ve learned not to ask questions in your line of work, but now, being in Russia with Zola, you had millions.

“What is it that you want to show me?” You ask him, for the millionth time (you hadn’t slept all too great on the fifteen-hour flight over, so you were a little annoyed).

“You’ll see soon enough, _Liebling_ ,” he sighs almost robotically, and once you two were clear to leave the airport, there was already a car waiting for you.

You had cleaned up on the plane ride over, but nothing had prepared you for the startling cold winter. Even covered in a thick wool coat and Steve’s old scarf, it seeps through to your bones.

The car ride to wherever you’re going is smooth until the road is rickety, and the deep cities give way to flurries of snow and great expanses of space. It’s now, that Zola begins to speak.

“The world is a chaotic place, no?” He asks.

“I think so,” you respond, calculating your response.

“Imagine,” he smiles as the car finally comes to a stop. “Imagine if we could protect it, exactly the way we want.”

“I’d say you’re crazy,” you start, stepping out of the car with Zola. You try to hide your amazement at the facility he has brought you to. It’s shroud in trees and snow, but the metal and cement are obvious and yet inconspicuous.

The car drives away, and Zola enters some sort of code to unlock the safe-like door. It opens with a heavy creak, and the two of you enter. “You have much to learn, _kind_.”

The murmur of voices is more apparent as the two of you walk in, and you realize that this facility is quite large. In fact, as the two of you walk, many of the staff greet Zola with a curt nod or handshake, even exchanging a quick word with him before the two of you continue forward.

As you two walk deeper into the facility, you notice that there are many levels, working their way down in an almost winding, maze like manner.

He brings the two of you to the outside of a reinforced metal door, he opens it and the two of you step in. It’s quite nice on the inside, cozy and ornate. If you hadn’t entered from where you did, you could almost think you weren’t six floors underground in some random facility deep in Russia. “Your office?” You ask, noting the small nameplate that sat on the oak desk.

“One of many,” Zola responds, sitting on the side opposite of you, gesturing for you to sit as well. You take the seat, and Zola continues, “the world is a messy place, looking for order. And I think we have figured out a way to mold peace.”

“We?” Your brows furrow. A squirrely man enters briefly, putting down two cups of tea and some biscuits on Zola’s oak desk, you thank him before continuing. “Do you mean SHIELD?”

Zola shrugs. “SHIELD? HYDRA? It’s all the same, is it not?”

Your blood runs cold at that sentiment. “I don’t think so,” you say, trying to keep a calm face. “HYDRA took away the people most close to me, SHILED wouldn’t do that.”

He nods, a small ‘ah’ eluding him. “What an— _emotional_ sentiment.” It wasn’t uncommon in your line of work to be called over-emotional, irrational, easily agitated, whatever anyone wanted to tell you just to shut you up, to belittle you. This was no different, but it still hurt. “The world isn’t ready for your brilliance,” and okay, that was surprising to hear. “No one wants to hear what you have to say,” you nod and look down, because that much was true. “But I do.”

You shoot up to look at him now, shock evident on your face. “You do?”

Zola nods this time, standing up. “I think you have more to offer this world than what SHIELD will let you achieve, which is why I want you to come here. Work for me.” He pauses a moment, almost as though he is unsure about what he plans on saying next. “For HYDRA.”

The world zeros in a small bit, your mind goes blank. “What?” You manage to say, voice coated in dread. “HYDRA is gone—Steve, he—”

“He died for nothing,” Zola smiles, but it isn’t pleasant.

You stand up. “I’ll never work for you,” you’re shaking with rage. “The minute SHIELD hears about this, I’m going to—”

“ _Oh!_ You didn’t think I was going to let you leave? Did you?” Zola sneers, armored men entering the room. They grab at you, thick gloves harsh against your clothes. “ _Wait!_ Wait,” he demands them, and they release you. “I think I have something that might change your mind.”

You’re sent down another winding hallway, this one far more dimly lit than the rest of the compound. And soon, you’re brought to another door. There are two guards standing on the outside of it. “What the hell is this,” you turn to Zola, but he just gestures to the door amidst the soldiers surrounding you two.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?” He says his smile like ice.

You open the door, and the room is somewhat large and pure white, it’s _pristine_. But it’s also deeply empty. There’s a white chair in one of the corners, and a bed in the other. And on that bed, there is a man.

He’s looking down absently, hand loosely in his lap—and that’s the first think you notice as you take another step in. He’s only got one arm. There’s something painfully familiar about the long tangles of hair though, the posture was all wrong—all closed in on himself. You think ruefully that maybe if he just sat up straighter, if he inflated his chest a little bit, he’d almost look like—

“ _Bucky,_ ” and the name pools in your head like wine and rolls of your tongue like a symphony.

He looks up at you, brows furrowed, like he wasn’t expecting that name. He looks dazed like his mind was foggy. But then your name leaves him like a question, and you’ve crashed yourself into him before you can think to do anything else.

You say his name again and again and again, and you say ‘I love you’ and ‘I’ve missed you’ and ‘you’re _here_ ’ and your arms are tight around his neck and your weight is pushed onto his. You’re running your hands through his hair and crying and seriously, you don’t think you’ve been happier. Because he was—he was _dead._ But not at all. Not even a little bit. You push your hand to his chest, placing your palm flat against the harsh roll of his muscles, and feel a pulse that makes you shiver. Because was alive. _Alive!_ And, god, you never thought you’d see him again. Even worse still, around your waist you feel the pull of one strong arm, not two, and you hold on tighter. Because why would you _ever_ let go now.

You pull away—only short of what’s necessary to look at his eyes. To feel his gaze, resolute on you, the way he had done so many times in the past. The same way you would never take for granted again. And you get what you want, all those shades of grey and streaks of blue, melting together into what makes Bucky exactly who he is. You’re kneeling by the bed, just under eye level with him and you bring a hand to his cheekbone and wipe his wet eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, but his face remained solemn. You feel his hand pull from your waist, trailing the scarf you were wearing, his eyes darken at it, recognizing it, before he pulls you in again, shaking as he hugs—no, no, as he _holds_ you. Like his life depended on it.

“I’m not sure, actually,” you answer honestly, turning to see (a quite surprised) Zola, as well the other guards, staring at you.

Bucky let’s go a small bit, following your gaze, his eyes growing fearful at the peanut gallery. “ _Oh no, no, no_ ,” he begins, mortified. He puts a hand to your face, bringing your eyes back on him. “You need to _go_ ; you need to leave. Right now.”

“What?” You scoff. “No—not without you,” you frown, your back going straight.

He clenches his jaw, rattling you a bit. “No, you need to escape, get out of here—whatever it takes—” and his voice breaks a small bit, going small. “ _Please_ ,” and he delicately tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“To be fair,” Zola speaks up, you and Bucky look to him. “I wasn’t planning on letting her go, _soldat_ ,” he shrugs coolly. “In _fact_ , I only meant to show her you—our newest asset—to pique her interest,” and he nods towards you, indicating for two soldiers to go and rip you away, which they do despite your protests. “I didn’t realize she knew you so—” he waves his hand absently in the air. “ _Personally.”_

“You’re not going to keep him here, _or_ me,” you demand, voice as tough as you can muster.

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Zola continues. “You see, Barnes is exceptionally talented. The only issue we have is well, where his _loyalties_ lie. He had always talked about his past—when we could pull it out of him.” You shoot a look back to Bucky, but he’s only looking down, eyes wide with fear. Your heart hurts, thinking about what he’s been put through already. “In _fact_ , I think with you here—we’ve got what we need to perfect him.”

“No— _No!_ ” You call out, the guards already beginning to drag you away, but you put up a fight.

“ _Let her go, please,”_ you can barely make out Bucky’s voice, wavering and weak, talking to Zola. Really, you’ve only ever heard him beg less than a handful of times in all the years you’ve known him (two of those times having been right now). It didn’t seem to faze Zola at all though.

“I’m sorry, Sargent Barnes,” Zola begins. “But she is the key we need to pick the lock on your mind, and she will be easy to break—well, _easier_ than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm sorry for updates as I fix grammatical and spelling errors! Regardless, I hope each of you enjoy reading this!)


	2. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family doesn't have a shelf life  
> Luckily, neither do the three of you, apparently.

**"Artificial"**

You had given Zola—HYDRA—as much trouble as you could.

So much, in fact, that you rarely saw the light of day. And when you were handled, you’d ask for Bucky. Over and over, until your voice gave out, or they starved you, or hurt you. But not once, did they ever give you what you wanted.

When was it, that you found your memories sucked out of your body like your breath when you and Steve and Bucky would run and run and run until you couldn’t anymore?

And how much longer after that did you find yourself body-less?

“Your mind is worth the work of a thousand men,” Zola had praised you, and you wanted to spit, but your mouth was always dry these days, and you were weak. So, you rolled your head, looking away, from where you were strapped to the table. He grabbed your jaw, painfully harsh hands scarring your cheeks for the millionth time. “If our bodies were as extensive as our minds, then you would live many, many years, _schatz_ ,” you writhe, feeling yourself go hazy. “Sadly, you are as smart as you are stubborn, and your _friend_ cannot afford such mishaps.”

Your eyes widen. _Bucky_. Your heart ached every day, knowing that he was in the exact same place you were, but you weren’t allowed to see him—you were scared to even think of him. Worried that they would see that flicker in your eyes and the memories would get ripped from you, used against him like a weapon. You don’t even have to really ask Zola what he’s doing. It had been a long time coming. Experimental, but still, with what they’ve managed to rip from you—they could make it work. “Your contribution will be remembered; _I_ will remember you.”

And like that, you were asleep.

✯✯✯

_“No, no,” Bucky whined as you untangled yourself from him. “Come back,” and he pawed at the loose fabric of his shirt (that you had stolen, yet again)._

_"I need to turn off the stove, I’ll be right back,” you say softly._

_“Just let the place burn down,” he sighs, head hitting his pillow with a thump._

_“Relax,” you say rolling your eyes, looking to Steve then, where he’s properly asleep, almost on top of Bucky, using his arm as a pillow._

_Of course, you keep good with your promise, bounding back and tangling the three of you so deeply together that you’ll be nothing short of intertwined forever._

✯✯✯

“Where am I? Where’s Bucky?” You call out, but the echo from your voice is loud and reverb and shakes everything, you think the sound would give you a headache, but it doesn’t. But where _are_ _you_? Like, physically? Where is your body, your mind screams for your arms to move, your legs, anything to carry you out of the darkness you’ve found yourself in. But it’s no good. You cannot move.

You realize, what they did—it worked. Your body was useless to them, but your mind? It was important. That much of you, they needed. That much of you was worth saving.

“Good morning,” you hear someone speak, you feel yourself turning in the dark space, but you cannot see who it is at all. You’re blind, but your mind is full and racing. “Good to see you’re awake.” The voice calls again.

“Who are you, where is—” you open your mouth to speak, but you don’t have a mouth, rather, it’s like your thoughts are on blast.

“That doesn’t matter,” the person says. “Can you tell me about March tenth, 1930?” You can hear the clattering of a keyboard, and it feels like the date is pushed into your skull. _03/10/1930_. And involuntarily, your mind searches.

“His birthday, he had a cake and the three of us lit sparklers,” you respond.

“Who’s birthday?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you feel like you would be frowning. “Bucky.”

“Good,” the person spoke, then, not to you, “That date wasn’t important, so she’s still functional, after all this time—”

 _All this time?_ You worry. _No, no_ , it couldn’t have been so long. Surely it hadn’t been long at all, you wonder. “Alright, let’s update her, we’re on a schedule here.”

The moment next, there’s a small clicking noise, and suddenly the deep dark space lights green and blue—though it’s too abstract for you to really know what’s going on. But then you’re mind fills and grows and expands, and you’re flooded with information. Things on the first and second World War, HYDRA intel, SHIELD intel too, tons and tons of content from the years.

It overwhelms you, it’s almost dull once it’s all been transferred. “What was that—”

But before you fully ask, it’s as though a muzzle has been put on you. Like you can’t speak. Actually, it’s exactly like that. You can’t speak, no matter how hard you try. 

“Courtesy of HYDRA,” the man says with mirth. “You’ll get new updates for the foreseeable future. Don’t expect anything else.”

And like that, you’re left. Muzzled and terrified of the stunning silence.

✯✯✯

_“Steve, stop it,” you scold him, grabbing him tight by the arm. “You can’t go fight, why can’t you just leave it?”_

_“There are men laying down their lives,” he seethes, ripping his arm away. “I deserve to do that too.”_

_You shake your head, brows worried, tears in your eyes, turning away. “I hate you.”_ _It was awful as it was, with Bucky gone, and now Steve too?_

✯✯✯

There are millions of updates that are streamlined to you. You learn everything about the Red Room, about the Winter Soldier program, about HYDRA striking chaos across the globe—SHIELD mopping up the mess, playing right into their hands without even realizing it.

The most painful are about Bucky. _No_ , not Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier.

November 22, 1963. He killed the president, one bullet, it was clean. Untraceable. With every report, your heart (assuming you had one somewhere) broke more and more. This wasn’t Bucky. This wasn’t him at all. _God,_ what had they done to him?

March 12, 1973. The death of Senator Harry Baxter strangled before made to look like he had drowned in a pool.

December 16, 1991. You didn’t think you could cry or feel hatred when you existed only with your mind, but when you heard about Bucky— _No_ , it wasn’t him. Rather, HYDRA’s attack dog, killing Howard and his wife, making it look like an accident? A car crash?

It was too much, and you finally stopped trying to fight. Was there a point? You couldn’t cry, but your sorrow was deep. You wish you could claw at the muzzle you couldn’t feel, that wasn’t really there. There wasn’t hope, not in a million years. Never again.

HYDRA had won.

It was silent. For years, your dread only grew. When HYDRA needed you, they took without asking, your memories abused and battered and viewed by anyone who needed anything. Through it all, you had no choice, you couldn’t object.

And then one day, it all came crashing down. A new file.

‘Stephen Grant Rogers’ streamlined right to you.

Dated 2011.

✯✯✯

_“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve said to you one day. And you quirked a brow, looking at him. “With me—I’m glad you’re here with me.” He reiterated._

_You laugh, squeezing his shoulder. “Where else would I be?”_

✯✯✯

It’s not that a switch flipped in you, but a switch flipped in you. You spent every moment of time trying to get to him. You knew it was pointless, it’d never work. But you had to try.

And it’s not like time didn’t pass—it certainly did.

You learned of Tony Stark, and Natasha Romanoff. Steve joining a team on SHIELD called the Avengers (all things HYDRA paid close attention to). You were desperate to tell him, to scream at him that HYDRA was still around—that Bucky was made to kill Tony’s parents. Project Insight. All of it.

More than anything you desperately wanted to be with him again. You would do anything to just hold him again, anything to have him hold you again. To exist with him, in the same space, to breathe the same air.

Time eludes you. It always had, only when a different file (amongst the millions) catches your eye. ‘Nick Fury—deceased’ the year was now 2014 (you seriously try to wonder how it had been three years already) and as you read, you can see now that it was the Winter Soldier.

Bucky was still _alive_. The years of silence after Howard was killed had led you to believe that he was gone. God, you wanted to scream. Bucky was alive, Steve was alive, and you were too—or, well, you _think_ you are.

✯✯✯

_“Girls gets ideas with a mouth like that,” You hear Bucky talking to Steve quietly, leaning over him, crowded in his sketchbook. “C’mere, actually can I—?”_

_You turn enough to see Bucky kissing Steve, warm and deep and how did they look so perfect together?_

_When had you found your way across the room, with them? Kneeling in front of Steve, who was still sat in his usual spot, sketchbook in his lap. Your hands absently beginning to trail up his legs, your head resting on his knee—_

✯✯✯

_Initiate System?_

You can hear an easy voice. “Y-E-S, spells _yes_ ,” they say. And it had been ages since someone had directly contacted, well, you, so the growth of white noise as you wake is obvious. They speak again, “shall we play a game?” followed with, “It’s from a movie that was really popular—”

“I know,” someone else speaks. “I saw it.”

You startle a bit at the voices, it’s been a while. You try to speak, but your mouth can’t open, muzzled. You press into the small drive you can tell is plugged in. Accessing the information, reading it—most of which has to do with Project Insight.

“What’s on the drive?” The deeper of the two voices speak, and you have no idea how you’d explain without speaking, so you flash the most important parts of the project to the people who (for one, you assume are HYDRA) are asking about it. The man makes a small, uneasy sound. “This doesn’t look good, Natasha.”

And your mind goes blank. _Natasha? Like Natasha Romanoff?_ _No…_ But your mind is already searching, pulling up every file you’ve ever gotten on ‘Natasha Alianovna Romanoff’, showing it to them, as if to ask _‘Is this you? Are you HYDRA?’_

“How did—?” _Natasha_ speaks again. You keep pulling up files: her time training for the KGB, working with the Avengers, Clint Barton saving her. All of it. You keep going until there are no files to pull out. “It’s some kind of recording?” She questions.

 _Shit, no, no, no. Not a recording._ But, god, how were you going to tell them that? You have no other files to pull out, but many of hers were dated, old, they could be from an archive. You needed something new. Something that couldn’t be mistaken for a recording.

You pull the file on Nick Fury’s assassination. Flipping through the file, trying to stress that it was recent—too recent to be archived. You bring attention to the assassin, the only files you could pull were SHIELD’s and there was little to nothing about the Winter Solider. So, you pull up files on Arnim Zola, about Captain Rogers managing to bring him back to base during World War Two for questioning.

“You know this thing?” Natasha asks her counterpart.

“Arnim Zola was a German—no, Swiss, scientist who worked for the Red Skull,” the other man says, as you continue to flip through the information you had pulled. You keep bringing up files on everything: Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, the Avengers, anyone and everyone.

“I think this thing is alive, Steve,” Natasha says, her voice almost playful. But your mind comes to a stop. A total and complete stop. _Steve? Steve!_ You’re screaming now—god, it was _you_ and all you wanted to do in the moment is scream ‘ _It’s me! And Bucky is alive! We need to save him’_ and you wish now more than ever that you could rip this muzzle off, because if he left now, you’d never be able to get him back.

You pull up every file on ‘Stephen Grant Rogers’, everything, every detail. Both HYDRA and SHILED and everything in between. When he was born, when he enlisted (and when he enlisted again and again), all the missions him and the Commandos went on, everything on Bucky—all of it. Because it felt like you were going to die if you couldn’t get Steve to realize that it’s _you! For crying out loud!_

You feel the drive ejected. “We need to stop Project Insight,” Natasha is speaking.

Steve sighs. “And HYDRA—god, I really thought they were gone,” and you can hear their voices growing smaller, distant.

 _No, no, no, no._ You needed them to stay, you didn’t have a being, but it felt like you were going to break if you couldn’t get Steve to just _realize_ , dammit. Even now, in 2014, you still needed to work hard to get ideas through his thick skull.

You scan every archive, for anything, for any video, for—

 _“Where am I? Where’s Bucky?”_ You play the audio file from the HYDRA database, but the room is silent, you have no idea if Steve or Natasha is still there, but you need to try.

 _“Good morning. Good to see you’re awake.”_ The man from the clip speaks.

_“Who are you, where is—”_

_“That doesn’t matter, can you tell me about March tenth, 1930?”_

“That’s—” You hear Steve speak, and you feel the most astounding emotion of relief that he was still there, that he was still around and maybe, _maybe_ he’d realize.

_“His birthday, he had a cake and the three of us lit sparklers.”_

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes, and you hear his voice close now, like he’s walked back.

_“Who?”_

_“James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.”_

“Bucky,” he says in time with you. “Nat, I think—”

You feel like you’re on fire, you run through the archives, bringing up files on yourself (the few that you had access to, because HYDRA tried to rip your autonomy the same way they had tried to do with Bucky. So really you could only access the file on your ‘death’ which was faked by Zola so SHILED wouldn’t come sniffing around). You repeat the recording, flipping through your files over and over again, to go ‘ _It’s me. It’s me. It’s me.’_

“Nat—call Tony,” Steve says, exhaling your name far too tenderly. “It’s her.”

**“Awake”**

“You telling me you slept here, Rogers?” Another voice calls out.

“No, no,” Steve laughs, and you don’t even really understand how you had gone so long without hearing that laugh. “But this place—this machine, is well,” he stops talking, sounding like the words are alluding him a small bit. “Can you do it, Tony?”

“Well of course _I_ can,” Tony says coolly. “And by me—I mean Jarvis. Goodness, this tech is ancient.” You feel another drive connect, but you can’t identify any of the contents. “Jarvis! Tell me what you find, c’mon, talk to me.”

 _“It appears to be some sort of Artificial Intelligence, quite like myself sir,”_ Jarvis speaks, but it’s dangerously close, like he was wherever you were. _“Yet this is quite impressive considering how old these databanks go back—Hello,”_ Jarvis is speaking directly to you now. But you can’t respond, so you pull a small file about ‘Anthony Edward Stark’ graduating MIT at 17, and similarly a small file on ‘Howard Stark’ and his attempt at flying cars.

“Well,” Tony sighs. “She’s got good taste, clearly. But can’t speak? Is that what’s up, J?”

 _"_ _I_ _believe so, sir,”_ Jarvis continues. _“It seems that there is a lock on the speech drive, which is strange.”_

“Can you get it off?” Steve asks.

 _“Perhaps, but I run the risk of damaging it in the process,”_ Jarvis speaks, and you’re starting to get the idea that he’s like you, whatever it is that _you_ currently are. _“Shall I try Mister Stark?”_

“Call it, Cap,” you hear Tony say casually.

Steve just sighs. “Well—yeah, sure, why not.”

 _“I do apologize,”_ Jarvis is speaking directly to you now. _“This shouldn’t hurt, but pain is rather abstract,”_ there’s a whirring noise, and the faintest clicking before a small hiss. The moment next you feel like your jaw is loose. 

You try to speak, and your voice is there, but the syllables are strange. The resonance is bizarre and you’re trying to say _‘Steve, it’s me, I’m here’_ but it’s coming out all wrong.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Tony speaks.

“There has to be something we can do,” Steve sighs. “We can’t just—”

“Leave her here?” Tony finishes for him, you don’t hear Steve respond, but it’s easy to imagine his embarrassed face—he was always the honest one. “Don’t worry, I think I’ve got an idea,” Tony starts, his voice going a bit distant.

“And where exactly is your idea?” Steve calls out after him.

“Korea—why, where’s yours?”

✯✯✯

_“You’re sick, Steve,” you laughed, wrapping him in more blankets. “Let me go heat up some soup, yeah?”_

_He pouted from where his head was visible from under the pile of covers. “I don’t want—” he stops to sneeze. “I don’t want soup.”_

_You shake your head in good nature, looking back down to him. “Okay,” you drag. “What do you want?”_

_He smiles in a way that is clearly too kind for the way he must be feeling right now. It’s probably the cough medicine you forced him to take. “Why can’t you just stay?”_

_“I’m not going anywhere,” but you don’t climb back on the bed. “But you need to eat,” you reason. “And besides, Bucky said he’d be home around now—and he’ll be hungry.”_

_“Bucky can heat up his own soup,” Steve whines, shaking out of the blankets._

_“No—No,” you scold, trying to wrap him back up in the covers. But as you reach to cover him back up, he grabs both of your wrists with his hands (which are too cold) pulling you back down onto the bed with him. Steve was sneaky like that, he didn’t look strong, but when he really wanted something, it was like he would unravel this strength you never would think him to have._

_“Stay,” he asks again, and how did you ever manage to say ‘no’ to Steve? Ah, right, you didn’t. You never did. Even sick and cold, how could you not lay with him?_

_Still, you tangle him back up, under all the covers (lest you want to get scolded by Bucky), but with you this time around. And finally, Steve begins to relax. And slowly, you feel him drift off._

_It’s easy. It’s always been that easy._

✯✯✯

“It can be done,” the lady hums. “But I will need a lot of materials for this project, something like this,” she pulls at her words a small bit. “It’s never been done before.”

“Anything you need, we can provide,” you hear Steve start to speak to her.

“Tony, you’re killing me here,” another voice calls out. “This is amazing—why—how did she manage to survive this long?”

“Nothing short of mad science and Nazi’s, Banner,” Tony replies. _Ah,_ so this other man was Bruce Banner. You begin to pull up the files you had manifested from both HYDRA and SHIELD about his work. The big green monster part has always confounded you, being someone who was constantly interested by Howard Stark’s inventions and research during the war (and even before it) _that_ is what you were interested in.

“That’s—surprising,” you hear Banner say back, though it seems to have piqued his interest. “So, HYDRA has been using her as a vault?”

“Sitwell said that she was the key to Project Insight,” Steve sighs. “Zola took credit for it, ‘ _Zola’s Algorithm’_ but, well—it was her.”

You want to scream at that. Yeah it was you! But reluctantly. Profoundly, _deeply_ unwillingly.

“So, Doctor Cho, you say you can do it,” Banner begins. “But you realize we’ll need to do it here. Moving all these databanks—we couldn’t do that. It’s too large of a risk.”

“I understand, Doctor Banner. And it can be done, I assure you,” she continues. “It’s like I said earlier, however. It won’t be easy.”

Tony sighs. “It never is.”

You’re still shroud in darkness, but it’s been a livewire wherever you are for quite a while. With Tony and the others coming in and dropping things off before leaving—Even Jarvis had been uploaded to do some preliminary prep work for whatever it exactly was they were planning to try.

“The power of the mind stone is not something to be wielded so easily,” someone speaks out, though they sound deeply annoyed.

“ _Relax,_ Point Break,” Tony sighs. “We just need it to help power this little science project—how’d you even get it? I thought we had a little heist planned to retrieve it.”

The other man scoffs. “It was easy, I walked in, retrieved Loki’s scepter and came right here.”

“None of Strucker's little goons tried to stop you?” Tony asks.

“I’m sure they could have tried,” the other man lets out a hearty laugh. “You humans have always been so— _tiny_.”

“Are—Are we ready to go here?” You can make out Banner asking. “Helen is working to lower the cradle down here.”

You can’t frown, but of all the voices you’ve heard, you haven’t heard Steve once. So, you ask, well, as well as you can. You begin to shuffle through all his files, pulling them up for the others to see. Thankfully, Tony seems to get it.

“He’s off stopping HYDRA,” and you groan at that, because _again? Really?_ Hopefully whatever they plan on doing to you works, because if it would let you speak again (more than disjointed syllables and the strange consonants that appeared randomly), you’d happily curse him out for putting his life on the line—yet again. The _nerve_ of that self-sacrificing asshole.

“Hello,” you can hear Doctor Cho enter the room. “Thor, what a pleasant surprise,” _ah,_ Thor Odinson, then. You welcome him as well as you can—the same way you had been for everyone else. Bringing up some files on him, to say ‘ _hey, nice to meet you’_.

“Hello, machine,” Thor bellows to you. “I have come to give you the mind stone, Doctor Cho.”

“I— _wow_ , this will make things easier, much easier. Thank you,” she says to him.

“Yeah, and are you sure we needed all of this vibranium?” Banner speaks next.

“It’s a very versatile metal—aside from the mechanical aspects of the material, it will be easiest for the cells to bond and accept it,” you can hear her walk a little closer. “I’m not saying that turning all you had managed to find into a _frisbee_ was unacceptable—”

“But it was unacceptable?” Bruce speaks up, a sorry inflection to his voice.

Doctor Cho laughs. “No—well, yes, but we’ll change that. Are we ready?”

“I think we are. Hey, _I, robot_ —” Tony knocks something that sounds like glass. “You ready?”

You can’t speak, so you make do with what you can, pulling the audio of when Natasha and Steve had first found you, _“Y-E-S spells yes.”_

The room is quiet a beat longer. “That’s good enough for me,” Tony finishes.

✯✯✯

_“It’s you and me,” Bucky spoke to you then, his voice a soft purr against your ear. The two of you were at his prom, and he had asked you for a dance._

_You huffed a laugh against his chest. It certainly wasn’t the first time you had danced with him. But how did he always manage to make you feel like he was showing you off? The way that he treated you, like the only thing in his world. The whole night, you’d have to ignore the looks of the other girls in his grade as they watched the two of you._

_All of them probably wondering why he had picked you, a freshman, to take to his Senior Prom. Always wondering if you had something they didn’t. And you never did, not really. Many of them, actually, were far prettier, maybe even more filled out. And no doubt (knowing Bucky) he had treated them all with that same charm and easy nonchalance that he seemed to have been born with._

_He was magnetic, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Always gonna be you and me,” he repeats, head tucked next to yours, as the two of you sway gently to the music._

_“There’s nothing like this,” and you catch his eyes in yours. “I’ve never met someone like you, Bucky.”_

_He tilts his head back and laughs, before he pulls you closer. “Good.”_

✯✯✯

Maybe it’s hours, or minutes, but you feel more power thrust into you than you have in the whole time you’ve existed. It’s like you’re getting supercharged. And as the moments pass, you feel like you’re getting anchored. Like you’re regaining a certain weight to your existence.

You’ve never felt anything like it—in all the time having a body, and all the time without. It never felt as complex, yet light, but somehow anchored as it did now.

And slowly, you begin to hear voices around you. All of them associated with the people you had been surrounded with this whole time. You can hear Tony, asking for levels of cognizance, Banner seemingly talking about the vibranium/cell interlay, and you can even hear Doctor Cho elaborate on your skeleton, how _strong_ you’d be. You wonder, all this body talk—and this new weight you were feeling, maybe you could—?

“Her left arm flexed,” Tony says, startled.

“Index and pointer fingers,” Banner adds, amazement clear in his voice. “The flexor digitorum superficialis and her extensor—my god. It’s working, Helen.”

You had a flexor— _whatever_. You had an arm! A _body!_ You certainly felt a new urge to try and speak—and now you could see Steve—

Holy shit.

You’d be able to _really_ see him!

“Whoa, her pulse is skyrocketing,” Tony said, nervous.

“No, she needs to stay calm, otherwise this could fail,” Banner adds.

But you didn’t care—not really. Not when you had a body and autonomy and god, _Steve_! You had to see him. As soon as possible.

“What is happening?” Thor asked, even he sounded worried.

“At this rate, she’ll combust the cradle,” Tony murmured, the sound of his typing growing fast.

“Can we sedate her?” Banner asked.

“Not with the way she’s built, it wouldn’t last,” Doctor Cho added. “We could speed the charge.”

 _I could do that,_ you wonder. Surely you could pull the charge, right? It was far too easy, all you really did was think that you wanted the charge to increase—and it did, almost attracted to the metal that now ran through your veins.

“She’s—” Tony begins, voice cut short in amazement.

“Yeah,” Banner added, just as amazed.

It starts to hurt, and you can feel your body reaching unnatural levels of heat, but you don’t care because you would be able to talk and live and breathe in the same world as Steve and Bucky yet again. Before you completely give in to the pain, though, everything fuses off. And your eyes snap open.

It’s still dark, wherever you are, but then the world opens in to you and there’s a lot of smoke, but looking down at you are four different faces, and you sit up, taking in the small little bunker of a room you had been stuck in for god knows how long. The place shroud in databanks and screens.

You bring a hand to your face, padding at your cheeks—you had a face! And hands! You were _human_ , or something close, at least. You blink profusely, turning a small bit, looking to the left, seeing Tony Stark and Bruce Banner looking at you, bewildered. You look to the right as well, seeing Thor Odinson and Doctor Helen Cho _also_ looking at you, equally amazed.

“Well,” Tony speaks, and you snap to look at him, watching his lips move, the small twitch of his brows—all the things you couldn’t visualize before. “Welcome to the twenty first century.”

**"Honey"**

“Steve was living down in DC, but with, well, _you_ and everything that happened,” Tony waves a small bit, the two of you in an elevator in Avengers Tower. “Let’s just say that Midtown is closer than DC, and besides, SHIELD— _HYDRA_ , is done for good.”

You sigh, nodding. “Good.”

“He said that he wanted you on his floor, actually spent quite a few days working on making the place comfortable,” the elevator doors open, and your eyes go wide.

The place was _huge,_ and the view was just— _wow._ This floor was probably bigger than every apartment you, Steve and, Bucky had shared your whole life. To say it was spacious would be the least of it. You follow Tony down one of the small hallways to the side, and he opens the first door to his left. “And this is you,” he gestures, and you walk in.

You’ve never had your own room before—well no, you had. But in all the time you had lived with the other two, it wasn’t necessary. “Thank you, Tony,” you smile, full and honest. He ducks down, nodding. If he wasn’t so cocky, you’d almost say he looked pleased.

“When will he be back?” You ask, trying to sound casual.

Tony shrugs, looking back at you with a smile, though you can sense his unease. “It wasn’t a clean fight, he got hurt, but I’m sure once he’s better. Stable. He’ll be back.”

✯✯✯

_You were dancing—well, no, more like you were hopping foot to foot in Steve’s small kitchen. His parents had left somewhere for the day and Steve thought it an ideal time to invite you and Bucky over._

_You and Steve were in, what? The eleventh grade at the time? And you had suggested—what with it being such a lovely summers day, after all—that the three of you set out some blankets in his stuffy backyard and spend time laying outside._

_And leave it to Bucky to shoot you a smile, the one you always folded to, when he asked for some watermelon. And leave it to you to get distracted, pulling out more food than he had asked for (serves him right—that boy is always hungry anyways). You had closed the rickety glass door that lead to Steve’s backyard because the breeze was nice, but letting bugs into the house? Yeah, not as nice._

_Though when you turn back to walk out, you see him now—Steve. Staring back at you, past the glass, his hand on the handle as though he had intended to open the door, but just never got around to it. It was carelessly casual and something about the way he’s looking at you makes you laugh. You set down the plate of cut fruit you had been holding, walking towards the glass, smiling, staring back at Steve._

_He tilts his head to the side, and you follow suit, tilting your head as well. His brows furrow, so you also furrow your brows. He stops for a moment, then, he raises his hand up, and you follow suit. Mimicking his actions. Safe to say that he was intrigued._

_You’re trying to keep eye contact, only looking away every now and then to make sure you were a perfect mirror to his actions. He waves his hand slowly, and you follow. He laughs a small bit, and you follow._

_He takes a step closer to the glass, and so do you. He puts his hand carefully to the door and you follow suit, pressing your hand right where his is, the only barrier being the glass. He sways a little from side to side, and you laugh, still, doing the same._

_The moment next his eyes sparkle, and his head cocks a small bit, and he leans in closer, eye flickering to your lips before his forehead hit the glass with a quiet ‘thump’. You stifle another laugh, watching as he looks at your lips again, biting his own. He’s resting his forehead on the glass as if he could push himself right through it—right to you._

_His eyes trail back to yours and it’s easy to rest your forehead against the glass, with him. Those blue oceans of peace, always calm—safe. A perfect house amid the storms of the world. There was something so elusive about the moment too. As if moments before, the two of you weren’t just sat next to each other outside, casually talking about the world and wonders and everything in between. Now, being separated by nothing more than a thin pane, you wanted to be with him intensely, deeply. To let what had built in the moments, no, the sheer minutes, you two had been separated, explode into exactly what you both had wanted._

_But then you had opened the door, and neither what you wanted or what he wanted dissipated, but you knew, these were desires that were something to joke about, to think about (and the three of you did think about it). But never to be had. _

_It was the same for Bucky. And it happened frequently._

_It could be as simple as seeing him sitting in homeroom from the hallway, before you headed off to your own class. And you’d catch his eyes in your own and smile and wave before you could stop yourself._

_And Bucky who was way too charming for a high school boy, who was far too perfect for someone still growing into himself, would wink and give a lazy salute. And it was such a simple maneuver, given reason by the fact that he was never a morning person and was always tired in homeroom. But there was something about the way he would drape himself in his chair, like a king sitting lazily in his throne, that you loved._

_But, really, when it came to Steve and Bucky, what wasn’t there to love?_

_And still, it was something that fed your reasons for loving them, and soon you realized that, surely, they had their own reasons for loving you._

✯✯✯

It was the footsteps that gave it away. You always had fine hearing, but after everything—your body, which looked the same, really (like you hadn’t aged a day since the war, since Bucky and Steve were last alive, each of you in your own time) was much stronger.

You looked the same, yes, but the vibranium and sheer fabric of your being seemed to glow, delicately, barely. But if you brought your fingertips centimeters from your skin, or brought your palms close together, you could see it. That glow.

It was a sort of soft ochre (you’d be so brave as to say gold), which felt strangely complex, and although you didn’t understand it, somehow you understood that something about it was what gave you the ability to exist in a body again. That somehow, it is what gave you the power to think and understand.

For now, though, you sit up in your bed, hearing someone walking, listening for coats sliding off and shoes being put away. Your heart is hammering, it had to be Steve, right? You slide out of bed, carefully walking to the door of your room, gently opening it (and it had only been a few days living here, but you think you could live here for a hundred years and still not comprehend the distance of the ceilings from the floors, or the wall that was just glass, before it gave way to the skyline outside).

And there he is, all tall and blonde, but wearing something so…different? Not slacks and a button down like you could only ever recall, no, no. He’s wearing deep blue jeans and a clean white shirt (something you’d only ever really see when Bucky or Steve had unbuttoned their collared shirts at the end of the day) with a worn leather jacket over top.

It was Steve, but the twenty-first century had him dressed in a way you’d never thought about before. Then again, it’s not exactly like your wardrobe was any different. You weren’t sure who had gone out and purchased the clothes that now sat in _your_ closet (and you still couldn’t believe you had your own closet, not when you and Steve and Bucky had always shared _one_ ) but they were, interesting, to say the least. All of it was your style, absolutely, but also so weirdly luxurious in a way you weren’t used to. Even your pajamas (which had always been a mismatched shirt and shorts, or sweats) were now incredibly silky to the touch and _matched?_ Ridiculous.

He hadn’t turned around from where he was, though, head downturned looking at something, as he discards the leather jacket, so you take another quiet step forward. “Steve?” You test, your voice is quiet. Slowly, his head turns up and his back straightens out. But he still doesn’t turn around. So, you take another step. “Steve, it’s me,” you say a little louder. He doesn’t move, though, so you do. You reach out the small distance, barely touching the skin of his arm, but he recoils like you had punched him, backing away, shaking.

You get a look at him, a real look. He was a little bruised and there was a small bandage across his forehead (though what else was new). Really, he looked no different now than he did back in 1943. Everything else, though, was different. The world, where you lived, hell everything was different down to what you were _wearing_. And he must be thinking the same as you—because surely you looked like you had just been plucked right out of your time, put here, but with nicer clothes.

The both of you—and Bucky—out of time. But together. So you take another step towards him, because you could feel the ache building in the fibers of your being to touch him. It had been so long, too long. Because back before when everything was taken from you, all you’d do was ask for was Bucky, and dream of a life where Steve was okay and happy somewhere. And the latter came true. Years later, yes, but still. It was true. And you were grateful.

And _somehow_ , the three of you managed to survive, and _god_ you really needed him to stop looking at you like you were a ghost, because you weren’t. And you’d do anything to prove it.

Though you watch his hand ball into a fist before unwinding, and he carefully reaches out, almost in disbelief—like he’s fully expecting his hand to go right through you. Though it doesn’t. Not even slightly. His hand (ever so large and warm, also as usual) hits the silk of your shirt, the fabric sliding and twisting in and around his fingers.

You can hear his breath catch in his throat and a worshipful and deep, “oh god,” is rushed from his lips before he’s got his hands on you, around you. Holding you so tightly (however now, your ribs don’t hurt, and it’s no less harder to breathe and you think that _hey, maybe this new body isn’t so bad_ ) that you know for a _fact_ that he is absolutely trying to tie the two of you into a knot. You hold him, just as tightly, strongly. You feel weak in the way his weight conquers you, and the warmest sense of longing crushes you. Steve was _alive_ , and so were you.

And seriously, _fuck_ the whole ‘things to be had’ and ‘not thought about’ and mockery and the weight of your thoughts. The three of you had never lived without the world in chaos, without the worry of money or war or sickness. And now you stood, in perfect health, with money, and knowledge that the world was finally at peace.

You run your hands through his hair, tugging at it slightly, just so that you can look at him. And he does just that, letting you get completely lost in those fucking _pristine_ eyes. He says your name followed with a ‘you’re really here—you’re _alive_ ’ and ‘god, it worked’ as he hooks his chin around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer. He sounds the exact same, and your heart bursts at the praise you so often got (in the past, sure, but now there was seventy years notwithstanding, so there was a lot to make up for). Or rather, that’s what you tell yourself before you nose the space by his jaw and lips. Because you want to kiss Steve, but you’d rather not start all of this by pushing something on him that he didn’t really want (because he loved you yes, and Bucky too, but he had agreed to go dancing with Peggy—maybe, perhaps to just be polite, she was a friend after all. And dancing with her would’ve been fun).

Though then Steve’s chasing your lips with his and you moan when you finally lean into it, because it had been a while, but you can still remember the way his lips feel on yours, and honestly, how could you ever forget? This time around, it’s not soft and swift in the slightest. It’s lingering and you wrap your arms around his neck to anchor yourself there, existing with him. Breathing the same air. Steve kissed exactly how he used to, that much is true. But it also was like he had finally mustered the courage to hungrily bite and lick and suck. And you were grateful for it.

Because kissing Steve and Steve kissing back? It was _ideal_. Though you break after a moment, breathing a little heavy, eyes lidded, staring at him. At how his hair was messy and ruffled, how his eyes were bright and sparkly and even the way his lips were a little bitten. “I missed you, the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I left you behind.”

You kiss him again, pushing all the air out from between the two of you. If anyone wanted to separate the two of you now, they’d need to use a crowbar. Because you weren’t going anywhere any time soon. Not now. Not in a hundred years. “I’m here,” you say against his lips. Because you wanted to push that idea to the very core of his skull. So that he would never forget.

And Steve starts walking from where you had come from, holding much of your weight up. Pulling you backwards with him. He bends down to kiss your neck and collarbones and you bite your bottom lip and hold onto him tighter. “You were gone when I woke up,” he says.

“I’m here,” you reply, trying to sound less breathless than you feel, hands bunching at the thin material of his shirt as he carries the two of you further down the hallway. It’s sheer moments then, when you finally feel the pull of gravity and the press of a mattress against your back--that you open your eyes.

Steve is standing there, watching you from where he’s standing above you. His eyes almost look anguished, and you hate that he feels anything short of happy, so you sit up, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sighs at the feeling, putting a hand to your shoulder, squeezing it. You look up at him, and he speaks, “I’m sorry.”

The weight of his words are painfully large. He didn’t have a choice. The three of you—none of you had a choice. You each were made to be in situations you couldn’t control. And each of you did the best you could. That wasn’t on him. The same way it wasn’t on you, or Bucky. And for that, it’s genuinely unfair that he feels responsible in any sort of way. Though, the words are easy to say.

“I love you.”

And it’s not uncommon. You and Steve and Bucky had always talked about how much you loved each other (under the blankets at a sleepover, or lazy days in, even when Bucky would come home drunk and you thought that maybe if you whispered it to him quietly while he slept, he wouldn’t catch it). That wasn’t exactly new. But, then again, you hadn’t exactly seen each other for a long time, and you didn’t want him thinking that you didn’t love him anymore. Because, really, that wasn’t possible.

Though now, Steve’s eyes widen, like he doesn’t believe it. Like after all this time, after everything that’s happened, it can’t be true. So, you sit up on the bed, on your knees, putting a hand to his chest. “I love you,” and you kiss him, saying it against his lips, running your hands under his shirt, saying it with the way your fingers trail his body. All of it, like a story you had gotten deeply familiar with, muscle memory, sure. But the way you felt your whole body light up as he presses you back down into the bed with him on top? That would never get old. You claw at his shirt a small bit, and Steve get’s the idea, pulling it off and tossing it aside. The delighted groan that escapes him as you dig the smallest bit at his back—bringing him closer—was music to your ears.

It’s not much longer at most, when you find that both of you had lost the last of your clothes, tangled in the blankets of his bed like normal—though far more naked and a bit more desperate for something else. And Steve, who always moved slowly, carefully, was driving you insane. Because you were panting from under him as he rolled his hips, all salt and sweat and sex as he worked you down. You’ve had sex before, sure, but you seriously cannot help but wonder now (under Steve, gasping and moaning against his mouth, hands clawing at his flesh, desperate to keep yourself grounded for just a bit longer, to feel him for a few moments more) was— _fuck_ —was _all_ of Steve supersized? Because it sure _felt_ like it.

You say, ‘I love you’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘god, _Steve_ ’ over and over. And it must do something for him because before he can keep going, he groans, deep and strong, he’s biting the space above your collarbone, his orgasm crashing down on him. And you’re not far behind, watching him, your body goes taut, twitching the smallest bit, before you relax, with him collapsed on top of you.

It’s easy to stay like that for a while, each of you catching your breath, both of you absently feeling eachother. You observe Steve’s fingertips dancing above the skin of your shoulder, watching as the ochre glow becomes stronger as he brings his fingers closer to your skin and watching it fade as he pulls his fingers away.

“Why haven’t we done that sooner?” He asks after another moment. And you huff a small laugh, because you were trying to wonder why you hadn’t either.

“All that time,” you shake your head, smiling. “I was scared,” Steve moves, and you go with him easily, letting him tug you flush against his chest, and you can feel the sound of his heartbeat steady in his chest. “I didn’t want to lose you or Bucky—that’s all I cared about,” you slot one of your legs between his, closing your eyes. “I know what it feels like now, to lose both of you,” and Steve holds onto you tighter. “There is nothing that I am scared of anymore.”

“He was there,” Steve starts. “He saved me, but I don’t know if he knew me—”

“He’s alive, Steve, he knew it was you,” you say to him, putting a firm hand to his jaw. “Bucky is somewhere. We need to bring him home.”

✯✯✯

_"Where are you pullin’ me off to?” Bucky laughed as he chased you down the empty school hall._

_You hummed, turning back around to face him, hopping backwards. “You’ll see,” and you go to turn back around, but he grabs your wrist, twisting you back around._

_“C’mon. Spill,” he deadpans, though the two of you are still hopping down the hallway. You laugh brightly._

_“Nope, you’re just going to have to see what we’ve got in store for you,” and you pull your hand out of his grip, turning back around, leading him away._

_“Better be good!” He calls out a little louder. “I’ve got a presentation next period and I should be preparing—why do you think I’m wearing this damn thing,” and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s talking about the tie that Steve had helped him knot that morning before school._

_“You look very…Presentable,” you smirk. Always the barest of compliments with you. Regardless, you catch the unmistakable clacking of heels and no doubt (with your luck) that was the principal. And surely, she’d love to catch you and Bucky ditching, because so many times in the past, she’d get damn close. But never exactly quite right. And you and Bucky always somehow managed to slip free._

_So, in the moment, thinking fast, you haul Bucky by his tie against the end of a row of lockers. You press yourself flat against the cool side of metal, with Bucky against you. You peek around the corner, and you can see her standing there, Mrs. Rivett, arms crossed, looking pissed off (like usual). You snap your head back, cursing under your breath, hoping that she didn’t see you._

_“What kind of girl do you think I am?” Bucky chirps at you, smirking. You snap up to look at him, your hand still using his tie like a lasso to keep him flush to you. You drop your hand now, though, bringing a finger to your lips, urging him to be quiet. Though he just leans in closer, bringing a hand to the lockers behind you, next to your head, stopping you from turning back to check to see if Rivett was still there. “You could at least buy me dinner first,” he says right into your ear._

_You flush at that, because even at the worst of times Bucky really managed to push your buttons. In the best ways and worst ways. Now was no exception, it shouldn’t be thrilling that you could get caught any moment right now, but it was. You blame Bucky for that attitude. “Not now,” you whisper, but your body speaks different, what with your eyes closing as his nose barely brushes your ear. Even if that weren’t enough, you involuntarily lean into the feeling, like you were just begging for him to plant a kiss there (and looking back, maybe you were). He chuckles, its low and gravelly against your ear and he manages to somehow step closer. It shouldn’t be attractive—It had no right being hot. But it was._

_“We can do whatever you want, you know that right?” Bucky said, innocently, and you whine a little bit, because you were at school. And Bucky was too fucking smart for his own good. And the thought of doing ‘whatever you want’ sent your mind to places that made your brain short-out. Worse than that, you knew exactly what Bucky was getting at. Bucky knew what he was getting at, no matter how cool he played it._

_“Ice cream,” you say, swallowing._

_Bucky lays off a small bit, looking back at you. “What?”_

_“Steve got us ice cream,” you look at his lips for the shorter end of a second, before looking back to his eyes. “From the guy down the street.”_

_He’s quiet for a minute longer, peeking around the corner, making sure it was clear. “That’s the surprise?” You nod, and he laughs, loudly, and you shush him a small bit, even though he just smiles. “C’mon,” and he pulls you off the lockers with him, tossing an arm around your shoulder. “Better get there before it all melts.”_

_You relax when it’s clear that Mrs. Rivett is nowhere to be seen. “Course,” you nod, leading Bucky out to the bleachers._

_(What you failed to mention—is that, yes, Steve had made the small trip to get ice cream, but the two of you had saved up what you could to buy Bucky that way-too-nice wallet he had always wanted)_

✯✯✯

“What do you say?” Steve asks you, he had gotten ready, and his bruising was already almost completely gone. He was propped on one knee by the ground next to you, who was still laying in his bed.

You gave him a sleepy smile, not sure of the time, though as you look out to the hallway, you saw the midday sunlight that seemed to pool on the floor. “Okay,” you say back.

He wanted to get you out into the world. And before you had completely fallen asleep last night, he let you know that it’s easier sooner rather than later. You let him know that you weren’t asleep the whole time. You probably knew more about the world than Steve did (and you probably knew more about the people he called his friends too, but he didn’t need to know that).

The world, however, was vibrant, _different_ , but it didn’t stress you out nearly as much as you thought it would. Steve takes you around to different things, all of them strangely familiar but really, not at all. Places you knew had existed through all this time but knowing that and seeing them were very different. You three were from Brooklyn, so being here now was different in more ways than just being over seventy years late. He had offered that the two of you could take his motorcycle but suggested that since it was such a lovely day, the two of you could walk.

And walk you did. Everywhere. He bought you coffee and the taste amazed you, because the stuff you had drunk way back was like tar compared to this. And, the coffee flavoured kiss Steve gives you after, is ridiculously sweeter.

You were surprised in the moment as he leaned down in front of everyone in the small coffee shop, kissing you. But melting into it came effortlessly, because Steve was a good kisser, and with his hand tight at your waist, how could you not kiss back?

Though it is slightly easier to stop as the barista coughs a small bit, you break away mildly aggressively, before Steve grabs your coffee for you, thanking them before the two of you are back on your way. Once you’re back on the street, however, you pull him down quick for another kiss, which he laughs into.

“We can’t just stand around making out,” Steve smiles down at you, nodding for the two of you to keep waking forward.

“And why not?” You whine a little bit, tagging after him.

“Huh, I don’t know,” he says coolly before leaning down to you, lips tugged playfully. “Public decency?”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” you say, and Steve takes your hand in his, squeezing it.

The two of you walk to Central Park, which you had only visited less than a handful of times in the past. Now though, with your coffee cups discarded, and the large trees that paraded the place, shading the ground as the two of you walked, it all felt very new.

The whole place was a work of greenery and light and, honestly, it was lively. Steve took you around on the paths littered throughout. And you watched a man feed far too many pigeons, a few kids and their parents run around playing, even couples on strolls themselves. But, seriously, the grass looked so plush and full, it almost looked soft, and would it matter if you just relaxed for a little while?

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, staring down at you from where you had sprawled out in the grass.

You sat up a small bit, giving him a testing glare. “Living.”

He lets out a humourless laugh at that, walking over to you and crouching down. “Get up, we’ve got more to look at.”

“More grass and trees?” You roll your eyes. “You get down here,” you demand.

Steve smiles, shaking his head and looking away before looking back down at you. “Still stubborn, huh?”

“You’re one to talk,” you laugh, pulling him down. “See, doesn’t that feel nice?” You turn to look at him, sprawled out beside you.

“No, actually,” Steve deadpans, but his eyes are closed and he’s basking in the warm light. It’s easy to watch him, long lashes and sharp cheekbones, that perfect nose and even his lips. He looked peaceful, relaxed.

You move quietly, carefully shifting before you gently press your lips to his. “How about that?” You ask softly after a moment. He lazily opens one of his eyes, looking up at you.

“You’re blocking all the sunlight,” he says after a moment, which rightfully infuriates you. You say something, annoyed, shoving at his chest. And he laughs, catching your hand in his, pulling you back down for another kiss. And after a moment, his hand isn’t grabbing at yours, but both of your hands are laced together. It was nice. And this was certainly a future you could get used to.

“We should head back,” you say, laying down next to him.

“We’ve been gone for less than a couple hours,” Steve replies, turning to look at you. “Don’t you want to grab some lunch?”

You hum, shrugging. “I’m not all that hungry,” you note, though you look at Steve knowingly. “But you must be starving, huh?”

He chuckles a little embarrassedly, but nods at you, regardless. It’s nice knowing that through all this time Steve’s appetite has stayed the same. “I know this great place right by the tower,” Steve starts, getting up, offering you his hand, which you take. “Sound good?”

You nod. “Anything you want, Steve,” and your heart lights up when he takes your hand again.

✯✯✯

_“You don’t know what you’re taking about,” Bucky had scoffed when he came home that night. He was scuffed up, knuckles bloody, and a tear in his blazer._

_"Really?” You deride, the way-too-early light had begun seeping through the closed curtains. “Talk to me.”_

_“No,” he said resolutely, starting to take off his clothes._

_“No?” You reply._

_“No.”_

_“Bucky,” you say firmly. “Tell me what happened,” he was more of a silhouette in the limited light, but you could still catch it as his jaw clenched and he shook his head. You walk towards him, trying to get a better look but he recedes away from your glare._

_"_ _Leave it,” he shot at you, before beginning to walk away._

_“I can’t do that,” you reply automatically, tugging him by his arm, back to look at you. You go to put a hand to his chin, to try and identify where he was hurt, but he shoves your hand away._

_“I said leave it, god, can’t you do that?” You stare at him, surprised, before he tears himself away. He shakes his head at you, walking back to his blazer and shoes, stuffing his feet back in them._

_“Where—where do you think you’re going?” You start again, trying to sound strong, ignoring the stinging behind your eyes, or the way your heart was ripping into a million pieces._

_“Out,” he replied._

_“You just got back,” your brows downturn, feeling your jaw wind up tighter and tighter as the moments pass. He doesn’t respond though, so you take a deep breath. “Hey—listen, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but stay, yeah?” You take a small step closer. “Buck, c’mon, let’s bandage you up.”_

_He’s shaking his head, though, and he looks at you the moment next, hurt in his eyes. “Why can’t you just—” and he sighs, but it’s heavy and miserable. “Just let me go.”_

_You don’t notice when your eyes begin to water, or your voice goes pained and soft. “Why are you being so stubborn?” You ask. Because how could Bucky think that you would want to leave him alone right now. He looks down and shrugs, shaking his head, still headed for the door. “Well fine,” you say the moment next, tears falling from your eyes, anger rising from his words. “Go, I don’t care,” and you shove his chest, and push him towards the door. “Don’t come back,” you shout, pushing him again. For some reason, the fact that he isn’t putting up a fight is making you angrier, and you smack his arm and grab at the fabric of his clothes. “Leave!” And he does._

_You sink to the floor, sobbing into your sweater, trying to muffle your cries, because your heart was broken, and Bucky was gone, and nothing was the way it should be this early in the day. The apartment was always cold, but it felt colder now, with Bucky gone._

_You don’t hear Steve, you never heard him, really. But you still find him wrapping himself around you and you melt into it, because he was no warmer than you, but it helped regardless._

_“Are you gonna be okay?” Steve asks you, dropping his arms._

_You sigh. “I’m an idiot,” and you shake your head, trying to keep your voice from jumping all over the place. “I don’t know why I said any of that.”_

_“He was being a jerk,” Steve snorts. “Like usual.”_

_You shake your head. “No, I mean, yeah, but he’s not usually like that,” and your eyes are still watering, but you try to keep it under control._

_“I know,” Steve sighs. “It’s because he got drafted.”_

_Your heart stops the moment your stomach begins to turn in your chest and it’s a lot to bear, and suddenly, you feel very much like you’re going to vomit. It was bound to happen, that much was very true. It just, well, it never felt real. But now? It did. It also made things make a lot of sense. “God, what am I going to do.”_

_“I’ll go find him,” Steve grunts, getting up. He gives you his hand, leading you up. He goes to change quickly, and you catch him throwing on his coat before he steps out. “Hey, relax, it’ll be alright.”_

_You don’t relax in the slightest. Not until you hear the door open again an hour later, Steve and Bucky walking back in. Steve looked fine, but Bucky looked like dread encapsulated._

_You shoot up from where you were sitting, walking back over to the two of them, eyeing Bucky’s composure. Noting that his wounds weren’t bandaged in the slightest, nor did he look any better than when he had first come home._

_Steve shucks off his coat, yawning, mumbling something about it being too early to be awake let alone go out, and heads back to bed._

_You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your eyes sting with the promise of tears yet again. “You could have told me, Buck,” you say, keeping your voice remarkably calm._

_He looks down, almost ashamed, nodding. “I know,” and he looks back up at you, “I just didn’t want to go so soon.”_

_You nod. “No one does,” and you take a couple steps to him. “But they need men like you,” you say, smiling weakly, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. He shakes his head before he pulls you into a strong hug. You’re balancing on the balls of your feet, pushed up into him as he anchors himself with you. Absently you stroke the back of his neck with your hand, holding on as tightly as you can._

_“I’m sorry,” he says to you, though you shake your head._

_"You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, pulling away a bit, finding his eyes. You reach up a bit more, kissing his forehead. “Come on, let me fix you up.”_

_And he lets you lead him to the rickety dining table the three of you had, you pull his blazer off and roll up the sleeves of his shirt. “Just your knuckles?” You ask, taking his hand in your own, placing it on your thigh before getting some alcohol on a cleaning wipe._

_“Mhm,” Bucky drawls his voice coated in exhaustion. “And my face,” he says as his thumb begins tracing circles into your thigh._

_You didn’t see anything outright on his face, though, so he was probably gunning for a joke, two could play at that. “Oh no,” you say, mock sincerity in your voice. “Your face is far too broken to be fixed—you’re beyond help there.”_

_He laughs. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”_

_You respond by carefully wiping the scratches on his hands with the wipe. Smiling as he inhaled sharply at the sensation. “Just a second more,” you say before wrapping some gauze around and around the cuts and scratches. You do the exact same thing to his other hand, working carefully, ignoring the way he’s looking at you. You clear your throat. “Anything else?” You ask, starting to clear away the small box of first aid supplies the three of you had collected._

_He rolls his neck out a small bit. “My jaw kind of hurts, actually,” he notes absently._

_You hum at that. “Want me to kiss it better?” You ask distractedly, not really thinking about it. Still, it was nothing short of playful._

_Bucky’s quiet for a beat longer. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Sure, why not,” and you laugh._

_"Good one,” you reply flatly, but you don’t move or get up, you stay exactly where you are. Yours and Bucky’s legs slotted together, him leaning in close to where you are, a bandaged hand still on your thigh, circling it absently. You sort of think, well, what the hell, as your hand moves to his chin, barely grabbing at it as you tilt his head to the side a small bit._

_You nose the space by his jaw lightly, basking in the scent of his cologne and alcohol and sweat, before you finally kiss the bone of his jaw, licking slightly (and you’re not expecting the way that Bucky’s hand tightens around your thigh. Even past that, you’re not expecting to like it as much as you do). You move away a small bit after, but not too far. Your hand reaches up, thumb brandishing over the spot, feeling his pulse under it._

_"That—” Bucky starts, but the rest of the words must melt in his mouth as you lean back in, kissing and licking the spot again, using your hand on his shoulder to keep you steady._

_Though your hand snakes its way back to the base of his neck, curling in his hair. And his hands are moving up your legs and up and up to keep you closer. And why did his hands on you feel so good? You kiss a trail up his jaw meeting him at his lips, briefly, giving him a peck before pulling away._

_Kissing wasn’t anything new. It was a thoughtful act, still, it ended there. Kissing was kind of as far as you were willing to push it (back then, at least) because anything it could elude to was way too preposterous. It was crazy (and you honestly don’t know how you’d ever manage to keep your head on straight for the act)! And it would never work, right?_

_…Right?_

_You blink a couple times, trying to get your thoughts to come to a big fat stop, it must fail, though, because the next thing out of your mouth is, “anything else you want me to kiss better?” Now why in a million years would you ask that?_

_“Ah well,” he says, stretching out a small bit, his head tilting to the side. “I mean, some guy kicked me pretty hard, right down—”_

_You yelp, hiding how frenzied you felt in the moment. “No!” you say, cutting him off, your voice pitching high. And he starts to break into a raucous laugh as you shake your head, forcing your blush away. “God, Buck.” The two of you stay like that a moment longer, until he calms down, staring back at you. You sigh, putting a hand to his jaw. “You should have told me,” you repeat now, brandishing a thumb over his lip._

_He bows, eyes going soft. “I know, I’m sorry.”_

_You nod absently, now wasn’t the time for a lecture. Weren’t you always the one who said ‘bandages first, lecture later’ when Bucky had been scolding Steve? Surely it applied now. Though, many times, what needed to be healed couldn’t be seen. And it was very true now._

_Bucky’s knuckles were one thing, but his mind? His heart? They needed to rest, he needed to relax. No, he needed to recharge. You snort, standing up. “Come on, idiot,” you say, holding out your hand._

_“Where?” He asks, taking your hand._

_“To bed, smart one,” you retort, and you take him to bed, the two of you smashing yourself on either side of Steve (which he tiredly tried to deny, but to no avail), getting comfy, and hopefully, if you were lucky, the three of you would stay asleep for the rest of the day._

✯✯✯

As much as you enjoyed going out with Steve. The modern world was a tiring place. It was loud and colorful and the moment the two of you got back to Avengers Tower, you changed and fell right back asleep in Steve’s bed.

It couldn’t have been much later when you finally woke back up, though the way that the light was deeper now and shaded less of the ground, you had a feeling the sun was setting. Regardless, you shuffled out of his bed, getting to your feet, walking out of his room.

He’s sat in an armchair, working on something in his lap, though as you walk closer you can see now that it’s a sketchbook. “What’re you drawing?” You ask when you get closer. Steve smiles and turns when he sees you there, holding up the sketchbook. It’s you, from earlier that day. Eyes closed and a happy smile with you sprawled in the grass. You click your tongue, standing next to where he’s sitting. “I love it.”

“It’s not done,” he says after another moment. And you smile at that. 

“You said that about everything you drew,” you say, looking down at him accusingly.

“Well I mean it this time,” he starts. “I haven’t drawn in a long time,” and he closes the sketchbook, tossing it onto the side table with the few pencils he was using. He stretches, taking your arm, pulling you to stand in front of him.

You stand there a little strangely, a little perplexed, cocking your head to the side. Because you had just woken up, your hair was a mess and your body could use a good stretch, there wasn’t anything to really, well _stare_ at. But Steve was staring like you had something to offer.

And finally, you did.

You let him lead you onto the armchair with him, sitting in his lap, straddling him. You hate that it’s comfy and that Steve is warm and the way that the setting light blooms across the floor and lights Steve’s eyes up. You look down, your hands fidgeting with each other, because his eyes were always intense and the way he was looking at you made you flush.

Though then, his hands are stroking your arms, and he takes your hands in his. “I like you like this,” Steve says.

“How do you mean?” You ask, because there were a lot of things he could be talking about.

He shrugs. “Here, with me, like how it used to be,” he tugs at the shirt your wearing. “In my clothes, in my lap.”

You agreed that it was nice, being with Steve was really nice, sitting in his lap was honestly just a huge plus. But wearing his clothes? That was kind of a given. Because you had rummaged through Steve’s closet for something to fall asleep in and when you found an old SHIELD shirt? It was perfect. Much better than being in those ridiculously luxurious silk pajamas you had worn the other night.

“It’s like everything I’ve ever wanted, but more, and it’s better than I ever thought it would be,” he continues, and your heart feels like it’s going to explode, or shatter into a million pieces, because, god— _yes_. You too. You felt like that too. He pulls you in, kissing you with a hand to your jaw. And you tilt your head to the side kissing back because you could. Because you wanted to.

It doesn’t take much longer for it to turn into something open mouthed and desperate as you rock forward to get closer and his breath goes short as he arches into it. And you respond by doing it again, making him roll his head back, hitting the head of the armchair desperately as he rocks back.

The first thought to cross your mind is that you should get up and move, somewhere with more room, surely, right? A bed, somewhere that would give each of you some space. You had spent way too long thinking about doing this and not actually doing it, that really, you _should_ be treating the whole thing with more respect than wandering hands and clothes thrown everywhere, right?

But really, what the fuck did space mean anyways? You’d spend the rest of your life in Steve’s lap if that’s where he wanted you (and right now, it was pretty clear that he _did_ want you there), so why would you move?

Steve’s hands are under your shirt the moment next, and it’s impossible to not be aware of his touch. The way he squeezes and feels and runs his fingers over every bow and curve. You lean back in to kiss his neck and his jaw, catching yourself surprised with your hands on the buckle of his belt, working to get it off. He lets you and just as easily he lifts his hips off the chair, holding up his own weight and yours sliding and kicking his pants off. Though you still had shorts on, and it was easy to see that Steve was annoyed by that.

You lean back in to kiss him now though, and he follows easily, nipping and feeling and it’s too simple, for you to bite at his bottom lip, just a touch over harsh. You don’t entirely expect him to groan when you do it though, and you really don’t expect to hear a tear the moment next.

Both of you break away looking at each other, before he looks down and you follow his gaze, noting that now, there was a rip in the shorts you had been wearing. You shoot back to glance at Steve, the two of you looking at each other almost dejectedly.

“I just really wanted them off,” Steve says. The same way he would say _“What are you doing after school?”_ Like it was normal, like it had happened before. And something about the informality of it, makes you laugh. And Steve gives you a confused look, his own mouth tugging into a smile as he asks, “what’s so funny?”

You can’t stop laughing though, how were you so horny and happy all at once? How were you moments from fucking one of the absolute loves of your life, and the two of you were _laughing._ Just because he had barely tried, and yet still managed to shred your clothes since they were getting in the way of the inevitable.

Somehow, the situation is lighter, almost folded in on itself, when you get up off Steve, letting him watch as you drop the last of your clothes, sitting back in his lap. It wasn’t a dance or a tease in any way or notion. It was nothing short of economical, really. But when you sit back in Steve’s lap, he’s gone from being half-hard to completely hard.

And he takes the lead from there, lining and lifting you up before setting you back down. You, arching into him as he goes, and Steve breathing hard into the skin of your neck as you sink down. Though, once you’re there, neither of you are moving all too much, aside from the roll of hips or the way that you occasionally writhe as he begins to roll and jerk lazily.

Both of you are pushed completely together, its crowded. It’s _perfect_. And the way that you’re asking him—in the way you kiss and feel and moan. All of it given reason because Steve was alive and well and how else could you tell him you were happy. How else could you thank him for being here with you after all this time.

Though then he rolls with a rhythm that kind of leaves you gasping, and he clearly takes notice. Because he does it again and again and again until you’re digging your nails into the skin of his shoulders, shuddering and breathing his name against his skin as your orgasm peaks and crashes, and he’s right there with you, breathing hard, his muscles tensing and relaxing.

You’ve wilted against his chest after, both of you catching your breath, coming down from the high (and really, naked cuddling was a high on its own).

“We should order dinner,” Steve mumbles to you, his hand trailing up and down your back.

“Order dinner?” You question. “Like go out to a restaurant?”

You feel him snort. “No, like order in,” he stretches. “One of the many wonders of the twenty-first century. You can get anything delivered right to your door.”

“Oh,” you say sort of dumbly. That was an interesting concept. It sounded convenient for sure.

“Here, why don’t you go grab something new to wear, and when you’re ready we can order something in. Sound good?” Steve asks, running a hand through your hair. You nod, leaning in to kiss him one last time before you get up to go change.

You find yourself rummaging in Steve’s closet for new clothes, hauling on one of his many hoodies before you hop back to your closet, grabbing a different pair of cotton sleep shorts (and you chuckle when you realize that they’re Captain America themed—with the little stars surrounded by rings of blue, red and white). Before you head back out, though, you hear knocking at the front door of the floor and similarly you hear Steve walk over and answer.

“Sam, hey,” Steve says easily. And followed with, “Sharon, hi.”

You mind begins to search when you hear the names, but for both SHIELD and HYDRA, there were many ‘Sam’s and ‘Sharon’s. So, you peek around the corner, getting a better look at their faces. And it becomes much easier. _Sam Wilson, pararescue_. He worked the Khalid Khandil mission using the EXO-7 FALCON, he lost his wingman Riley during that op. Your mind kind of goes off on a tangent, but you shut yourself up before the information swallows you. _Sharon Carter, a top agent._ Niece of Peggy Carter and one of the finest SHILED had to offer—though she works for the CIA now. You absently note through her file, seeing that Nick Fury had assigned her to watch over Steve when he lived in DC. And considering that Steve was alive right now, she must’ve done her job well, and for that Steve must trust them. And therefore, you do.

You step out from your room, a soft smile on your face as you make your way to the three of them. “Hello,” you say as warmly as you can muster (really you’re hoping that Steve managed to get rid of your clothes that were obviously tossed on the ground, and a quick look over confirms that he did, thank _god_ ).

“Sam Wilson,” Sam says, reaching his hand out to shake yours, which you take warmly. You introduce yourself, Sam just nods and goes, “ah, yeah, I figured as much.”

“Sharon,” Sharon says next, shaking your hand, giving you a firm nod. You give her an inquisitive look. No last name? Maybe she didn’t want people knowing she was related to Peggy. Which was fair enough. As far as you knew Peggy was still alive, maybe she just wanted to be treated like everyone else. 

“It’s really nice to meet you both,” you smile after a moment, folding your hands neatly behind you. “Steve was about to order us some dinner, if you guys would like to join?” The two of them share a short look, they look unsure, but any friend of Steve’s was a friend of yours. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” you wave absently in the air, urging them to relax and come in.

Steve gives them an easy look next, shaking his head and looking down, gesturing himself for them to come in, following you down to the living room area of the floor. You take a seat on the sectional and no one is surprised that Steve sits down next to you, with Sharon and Sam sitting adjacent to the two of you.

“We’ve got a location,” Sharon starts, crossing her legs and leaning forward. She had brought a file with her and now she sets it down on the table between the four of you.

“Took a lot of cold leads, but she helped me out,” Sam continues, starting to say something else. You focus in on the file, trying to read it, you knew it had to do with Bucky the minute the two of them set foot in the apartment, but you didn’t want to freak anyone out so you played dumb. Now, though, focusing on the file was easy, the information from it was a tip to the CIA about where Bucky—rather, the Winter Solider—was.

“Bucharest?” You say after a minute, frowning. “Bucky—he’s in Bucharest?” Sam gives you an impressed look, nodding.

“It’s just a small lead, but we’re pretty sure it’s him,” Sharon said.

Steve sighed, shaking his head. “If I go,” he trails off. “If I go, it’ll scare him off,” and he sounds pained.

“I don’t think so,” you say automatically. “I think he’d be happy to see you.”

“Really?” Steve asks rhetorically. “We both know that’s not true,” he says to you, shaking his head.

You purse your lips and nod. “Okay, fair,” and then, “I could go,” and Steve shoots you a surprised look. “I could go—right?” And you look to Sharon and Sam for any backup.

Sharon clears her throat first. “I think that’s a good idea, you could head over, report back.”

“Let us know he’s okay,” Steve adds, nodding.

“I could do that,” you repeat, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest at the idea of getting to see Bucky again.

“Alright,” Sam smiles, clapping and getting up. “Let’s order some food and get to work.”

**"Knot"**

It turns out that boarding a plane and packing some luggage was the easy part. Hell, even Tony and Jarvis helped you out with the geography of Romania, picking apart the streets and the language easily and letting you absorb the knowledge like a sponge.

Sharon had given you a phone with her, Sam’s and Steve’s numbers (along with the other Avengers in case you needed anything) before Steve had taken you to the airport, leaving you at the right gate (he had kissed you over and over, and held you _so_ tight, and how many times did he remind you that he loved you before you laughed and told him you _really_ needed to get on the flight).

All of that was easy. But now you stood in a rickety old apartment building, outside a door— _the_ door. Bucky’s door. And your heart was pounding, because you needed to see him again. The same way you had been so desperate to see Steve again. You raised your hand to knock, but you just _couldn’t_. You wanted to, but you couldn’t.

The sounds of life outside were loud, bike bells and honking cars and the draft from the wind pushing through every crack and window. You sigh, shaking your head. You had to do this. _You had to_. For you, and Steve. To see Bucky again. You had to. So you knock, and you want to ditch as soon as you do, but you don’t. You plant yourself firmly, and knock again, once there’s no answer.

No luck. So, you try the doorknob, and it opens. Your breath catches at that. It shouldn’t have opened. That wasn’t like Bucky at all—that was reckless and unreasonable. But you still carefully walk in, closing the door behind you.

It’s a room. No, it’s less than a room. There’s barely enough space for his bed, let alone the couch and the small kitchen sat opposite with the longer table sat behind the couch for extra counter space. The windows have newspapers over them, and there are two other doors. One that leads to a balcony, and the other which was presumably a fire exit.

You drop your bag in the corner, walking in a small bit, noting the small bathroom door right next to his bed. You walk into the kitchen, turning around in the small space. Noting the small items placed around. Some cutlery, spoons, bowls, cups. Most of his things, actually, were colorful, like he picked them for the design or colour and not just out of sheer necessity for the items. It was nice, and you found yourself smiling at that. Though from the door, you hear the distinct sound of plastic hitting the floor and something rolling on the ground. And you turn around, seeing Bucky standing there, eyes wide.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes are stinging because Bucky was here, and he looked battered and bruised, sure. But you could see that he was broken in spirit too. You give him a once over, swallowing. “Bucky—” you start.

“Who the hell are you,” he asks, and he’s shaking, eyes wide. Your heart breaks, because he looks like a deer in headlights, like you have the power to turn him into roadkill right there. Also, because, did he not recognize you? After all this time, it was possible, it made sense. But you hoped not.

You take a step closer. “It’s me,” you say, introducing yourself, “you know me.”

He blinks harshly, shaking his head. “She’s dead—they— _Zola_ , killed her.”

“No,” and you begin to walk closer. “No, he didn’t kill me, Buck,” you step into his space, putting a hand to his jaw, running a thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m alive. I’m here.”

It’s like he’s shaking out of his skin, and you make out the faintest whirring. You look to his arm—the one you know is metal under all the layers and the glove. He wasn’t comfortable, to say the least. It’s like he was thinking, or at least, trying to.

He steps back, out of your grasp. “No, she’s dead,” his hands are clenched into fists. And his jaw is wound up tight. He grabs at the wall by his bathroom, looking down. “God—what did they do to me,” he winces to himself.

“Bucky—” you say again, but he shoots up to look at you now, almost enraged.

 _“You’re not real,”_ he yells, his metal arm reeling back before it’s aimed right at your face. You’ll have to remember to thank Tony, Bruce and Helen for the body. Because you’d never have been able to dodge that in the past. But now instead of your face, his fist goes right through one of the cinder blocks he had been using to help with a makeshift bookshelf on the wall, and it practically turns into dust.

You distance yourself. “Bucky—stop,” you say, backing into his kitchen. “We used to dance to that—that song, the Billie Holiday one—”

“ _Shut up,”_ he shouts again, tossing the small table out of his way.

You do not, in fact, shut up. “—Steve always liked that Harry James song, remember that?” And you duck out of the way again, heart pounding in your ears as you hear the sure sound of drywall disintegrating as his fist went through it. “—The one with Helen Forrest, about the soldiers?”

You’re not fast enough though, and he grabs you by the back of the neck, whipping you around and shoving you against the wall, fingers digging into your shoulder—a facsimile made from metal and synthetic flesh, sure. But it still hurt. “You’re not real,” he seethes at you, his right arm held back, ready to strike. 

“You came home—you had gotten drafted,” you choke out, the pain shooting alarmingly strong signals to your head. “You were being a jerk, I—I kicked you out, Steve brought you home.” His eyes go wide as you speak, and you feel his metal arm relax a little from where it’s gripping your shoulder. “We got caught in the rain one day, and you had to drag me back to the apartment,” you’re staring at him, noting that his eyes have slowly fallen to the floor as you speak. “Detention, you were in the seventh grade—that’s where we met,” you swallow, trying to ignore the build of pain that seemed to release now that his hand was easing up. 

His eyes dart back to yours when you say that, and both of his hands completely drop. He wasn’t shaking anymore but he looked like he couldn’t believe it. Like it didn’t make any sense, and to be fair, it didn’t really make much sense. “You’re real,” he says, his voice breaking, tears flooding his eyes the minute next. “You’re here,” and he starts to back away, mortified with himself. “I hurt you—I—”

You try not to wilt against the wall, standing up straight, head feeling light. “No—Buck, I hurt—” you take a breath, walking towards him. “I hurt you,” your foot catches on the plastic bag that had been discarded and you tumble into him grabbing his shoulders to keep yourself upright. He catches you.

And you distinctly feel the pull of two arms, not just one.

✯✯✯

_The night was a rowdy one, Coney Island was crowded to start, but with summer nights and the fact that it was the weekend meant it was packed full. And Bucky had bugged Steve to ride the Cyclone with him until Steve finally gave in. And you wanted to get on too, though you had rightfully gotten distracted by some of your classmates coming up and talking to you, and you missed the chance to get on._

_“So, what are you doing here?” Dolores had asked you._

_You were looking at Bucky and Steve, who were calling your name and looking at you with disbelief, arms raised, mouths open and brows furrowed so as to ask ‘what are you doing?’ before the ride began to roll forward, and you turned around to face the group of girls. “Huh? Oh, it’s nothing big,” you smile waving a hand in the air. “Bucky wanted to come down and we finally had the time to.”_

_“Nothing, huh?” Mary said, shrugging her shoulders winking at you._

_"Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Anna added to that, smiling all coy._

_You shake your head a little. “What do you mean? I’m friends with them.”_

_“You mean you’re friends with Bucky,” Dolores begins._

_"And Steve tags along,” Anna says, shrugging._

_You laugh, because it’d be funny to let them know that you actually hated Bucky when you first met him. And that were only really interested in being Steve’s friend. But you had a good feeling they either wouldn’t buy it, or they’d take it all wrong. So, you just shake your head. “No, no, the three of us are good friends,” you say, turning around, looking at the Cyclone. “Always have been.”_

_“Just friends though?” Mary asks inquisitively._

_You nod, “oh yeah, for sure,” and you cross your arms just a small bit tighter because it was starting to get cold._

_"Well,” Mary speaks up again. “You just have to put in a good word for me—to Bucky, would you?”_

_“I—” you begin._

_“Oh, stop it, Mary,” Dolores begins. “Try for me—I’ll do your homework the rest of the year.”_

_“Ladies, neither of you have a chance,” Anna steps forward, shaking her head. “But I might.”_

_“Well what do you say?” Mary cuts in, and the three of them turn to look at you._

_“Uh—” you begin._

_“Hey, are you cold?” You barely catch Bucky say, before he’s pulled off his letterman jacket (he had gotten it from the gym where he went to wrestle, and he often never wore it, tonight was a lucky exception), carefully draping it over your shoulders._

_“Oh, thank you,” you manage to say, rather ineloquently, but Bucky doesn’t call you on it. Instead he turns to the other girls from your grade, tipping his head slightly towards them._

_“Dolores, Mary, Anne,” he says, smiling. “Nice seeing you three tonight,” and the three of them look like they’re about to melt with the way they coo ‘Hi Bucky’ back. But all you can wonder is when he had ever learned their names._

_"Where’s Steve?” You ask after a second, because he wasn’t by Bucky or you, and you were already nervous. Bucky whips around immediately, feeling the same anxiety you were feeling, before both of you catch him, hand on a trashcan. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, we’ll catch you guys later,” you say, walking over to Steve. “Hey, are you—”_

_And he began tossing his dinner into the trashcan. Bucky was laughing not even two feet away. And you felt bad for Steve, because well, for one he was throwing up, but also because those hotdogs you guys had eaten earlier were fucking fantastic, and now he was tossing the whole meal._

_Though, the fries and hotdogs looked way better when they weren’t dumping from Steve’s mouth._

_You put your hand on his back, trying to soothe the ache he must feel. Bucky comes up the moment next, throwing his arm around you. “That’s not a pretty sight, that much I’ll say.”_

_“You okay?” You ask Steve once he straightens up._

_He groans, wiping his mouth on some napkins he had stuffed in his pocket before tossing them in the trash. And the moment he’s turned back, you wrap your arms around him, “you had me worried for a minute there,” you say to him, squeezing a bit tighter._

_Bucky wraps his arms around both of you, patting both of your heads. “Thought our whole evening was shot to hell, there, Stevie.”_

_Steve snorts. “Relax,” he says, even though you hold him tighter. “The only thing that’s shot to hell is the chances of a girl kissing me tonight.”_

_You chuckle then, shaking your head against his neck. “Aw, Steve,” you say. “I’d still kiss you.”_

✯✯✯

It was dark out when you finally woke up. And it was a little disorienting, being that you couldn’t entirely recognize where you were for the first few moments. Though then you remember: Steve, Bucharest, Bucky. Always an interesting mix, but with the sleeper program in Bucky’s head? Not so much.

You sit up, realizing that Bucky had laid you out on his bed. When you first entered, you didn’t notice any blankets, but now you were covered in them. You pawed at them; they were soft. Kind of like they were new. You stretch and blink a couple times. It was sort of dim in the small apartment, there were only two lights on through the whole place—and at that they were sort of yellow and dull to start. You roll your shoulder next, and you expect it to hurt, but it doesn’t, well, not really.

“Hey, you’re up,” Bucky says, and your head turns to his voice, seeing him sat sort of far away, at the small table he had now replaced.

You smile, because Bucky was okay, and alive and could you ask for more? “Thank you, for letting me sleep,” you say, standing up on the mattress, stretching. You begin to walk towards him, but he pushes back in his chair. You stop.

“Don’t,” he says, even though it comes off more like a plea and less like a demand.

“You can’t hurt me—”

“Yes I can,” he says, shaking his head. “Ever since—” and he can’t finish, still though, you know what he’s trying to say. Ever since Zola, ever since he fell from the train, ever since you found yourself in Russia with him. He blames himself for what Steve and you went through. And for what? The world was no better for any of it. But, strangely, you and Steve were kind of okay, it led the two of you back together, and with luck, it’d lead Bucky back with the two of you as well.

“None of that was your fault, Bucky,” you say, not stepping any closer, you cross your arms, frowning. “You’re safe now, you know that?”

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw, running a hand through his hair. “How’d you find me—actually how are you even here?” He asks with such a genuine curiosity, and it almost shows you that under everything, he was still the same curious kid he always was.

So, you laugh a little, and shoot him a sweet smile. “It’s kind of a long story, and I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” you say giving him a playful look. “If I go wash up, can you make us dinner, and I’ll explain everything?”

He looks kind of unsure, but the moment next he nods, biting his lip. “Sure,” and he stands up, though he walks around you like he’s pressed against a wall, trying to avoid a pit of lava. “Anything you want?”

“No, no,” you say, walking to where your bag was dropped, picking it up and walking to the door of the washroom. “Anything you want is okay with me,” and you smile, giving him a short nod, closing yourself in.

The minute you’re in the washroom though, you drop your bag and pull the shoulder of your shirt down, eyeing where he had grabbed you earlier. There wasn’t anything that would suggest that he had hurt you on purpose. It hurt for all the right reasons. Bucky had been terrified, like a wild animal, caught, knowing it was going to get killed. And you hated what happened to him now more than ever before.

You open the smallest pocket of the bag you had brought, turning on your phone noting that Steve had left a dozen texts and calls (same with Sharon and Tony). All of them asking if you had made it okay, if Bucky was okay, all of it.

You take your time responding to each message, mostly letting them all know that everything was going well so far. That Bucky was surprised to see you. But you mostly left it at that. And once you’re done with the messages, you slide out of the clothes you had worn through your travels, changing into something far more comfortable, as well as washing your face. By the time you’re done, you can smell the faintest scent of garlic and cream lingering in the air.

The door from Bucky’s bathroom opens without the slightest creak, and you carefully pad over to where he’s working away in the small kitchen, head ducked down as he stirred something. “Do you need help with anything?” You ask quietly.

He just shakes his head no, and you nod, backing off, going to sit at the small table. You had brought your phone out with you, and you were messaging Steve a little bit, just with a few updates. But you couldn’t stop looking at Bucky.

He was always muscular, sure. But now? He looked crazy strong, even taller. It was in his file—all the advancements the serum had given him, but it was painfully visible (the same way it was for Steve). His upper body was tough looking, broad, though you realize it’s probably so that he can support the metal arm. Even beyond that, his face was more angular now. All that boyish charm was trimmed off, completely replaced with something formidable and so damn _compelling_.

He takes two bowls from on top of his fridge, plating some food, bringing some over to you, before sitting across from you, with his own. You thank him and begin to eat. It’s a simple dish, just some pasta with and easy sauce. But it’s still delicious, and you tell him as much, smiling honestly.

Bucky nods, but looks down to his own food, starting to eat.

 _Well, no time like the present_ , you think, clearing your throat. “Steve found me, locked away from back when HYDRA was around—” you start, going through every detail. Telling Bucky about how Tony Stark had managed to bring you back, and how Steve and you had spent a little while together. You tell him everything, and if he believes it or not, you can’t help. Because so often the truth was stranger than fiction.

By the time you’re done explaining everything, both of you had finished eating, just sitting at his table. The chatter must have eased Bucky’s mind a little bit, because he seems a bit looser than when you had first arrived (and he had asked a lot about Steve, wondering if he was okay, if he was still annoying. The answer being yes to both of those). He almost looked relaxed, and you smile at that, leaning forward, resting your head in your hand.

Bucky looks at you now though, smile fading a small bit. “It’s late,” he says, getting up, grabbing both your bowl and his, walking back to the kitchen. “You should rest.”

“You mean _we_ should rest,” you say, standing up with him, stretching out. It’s not that he doesn’t respond, but he certainly doesn’t look convinced at that. You snort. “Hey, we can try,” you say the moment next, stepping back, and you wince, because Bucky hadn’t cleaned up any of the mess from earlier. In fact, other than replacing the small table and chairs, there was still a hole in the wall, and where you stood there were jagged chunks of cement. You dust off your foot, seeing a broom tucked away by the door that lead out back. You grab it, moving to carefully push the debris into a small pile. The two of you worked silently in the dim light. The distinct sound of water running and the telltale _swish_ of the broom as you cleared the floor. It was painfully domestic.

You loved it. You could live like this forever.

The next moment, you hear a dish hit the sink perhaps a touch too harshly. But you don’t respond, because you didn’t want to give Bucky any reason to think you didn’t trust him (or worse, that you feared him). So, you keep with the sweeping, working all the dust and powdered cement into a pile. The moment next though, the smallest melody fills the air, and your back straightens. Because it was familiar, _very_ familiar, painfully so.

And it keeps going, and you want to turn, because it’s Bucky. He’s humming. But you’re worried he’ll stop if you point out the song, you’re worried he’ll stop if you point out in any capacity that he seems to be okay right now. So you keep working away, trying to can the desire to just hold onto him, and push him back in time with you. Back to his horrible record player, and the creaky floors your neighbors would always complain to you about. All of it.

But the humming gets louder, and it may be over seventy years later, but you still knew when Bucky was trying to casually make a moment happen. You smile, because this time you’d beat him to the punch—whatever that was going to be. But when you set the broom aside and turn on your heel, he's already there. Once standing right behind you, but now chest to chest, and you colour a bit. He’s still humming when he carefully takes your hand, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer.

And before you know it, the two of you are dancing, it’s slow and easy and you realize that nothing has changed. You smile, to him, before you rest your head on his chest, feeling him drop his head down on top of yours. You laugh against him, but you feel like you might cry, because you almost hurt with how much you love him. You go soft against his chest, as he hums, feeling the way it reverberates through you, tugging at the tendons of your heart. You barely notice when he’s stopped humming, the song over, the two of you swaying from foot to foot for a moment longer before he starts to pull away.

You shake your head no, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him down a bit. “Can’t we just stay like this,” you ask, not caring in the slightest that you sounded desperate.

“You need to sleep,” Bucky demands, but his voice is soft, looking down at you.

“No, _you_ need to sleep,” you reply, just as stubborn. Because you had just slept for god knows how long. But Bucky looked like he hadn’t slept since 1945. He opens his mouth to protest, but you shush him. “You’re going to get some sleep tonight,” and just as gently, you catch his eyes in yours. “I promise.”

He looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, looking back at you. And you shake your head.

“You could never.”

Bucky’s bed was more familiar than Steve’s massive one back at Avengers tower. This one was smaller and a bit tougher. And after you had made it as nice as you could (spreading the blankets nicely and evenly, sliding between them yourself) you looked to Bucky expectantly. “Well? C’mon,” you say like it’s obvious.

He still looks nervous, though he tugs off his jeans and hauls off his shirt, which was nothing new. Bucky seemed to always have a prejudice towards wearing any more clothes than absolutely necessary. What _was_ new, well, the metal arm for one. It didn’t faze you all too much. It couldn’t. Not even the marred flesh that gave way to metal. It was all Bucky, who he was. It was perfect. _He_ was.

You watch as he flicks off some switches. The whole apartment going dark before you feel the mattress dip, as he lays next to you. You give him a moment to relax before you tug him closer, wrapping yourself around him tightly. Your leg hooked around his lower torso, and over his hip, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. He had gone with you easily, but you still wanted to be sure, “is this okay?” You ask him quietly.

He nods, yawning, and you feel his hands run up your back, pulling you closer. “Better than okay.”

✯✯✯

_“Last one to the end of the pier needs to buy the other two ice cream!” Bucky howls, darting down the dark pier. He was so competitive, wasn’t he? You roll your eyes in good nature, neither you nor Steve taking off after him. Because Steve had just thrown up, and you were too cold to run off._

_It was a pleasant night regardless, with the way that the sounds of the crowds of people behind you on the beach and the strip began to fade into the background as the three of you walked down the pier._

_“So,” Steve starts, hands tucked into his pockets. “Did you, uh, did you mean that?” He asks._

_Your brows furrowed. “Mean what?” You said a lot of things, it would be years of going through what you meant and what you didn’t. “You’ve gotta be specific, or we’re going to be here all night.”_

_He chuckles a small bit, shoving you with his shoulder. And you smile at him, looking out to the ocean, which was wonderful and calm tonight, it was nice. Even the moon was hung in the sky like a perfect gem._

_“About the kiss, thing,” he says turning to look at you, before looking back out to the pier and then back at his feet._

_You said it to make him feel better, because any girl would be lucky to kiss Steve Rogers, you just never thought that lucky girl would be you. “Did you want me to mean it?” You ask, folding your hands neatly in front of you. Avoiding eye contact, because if he said he didn’t want it to mean anything, you’d probably want to jump into the ocean and drown._

_But instead he just puffs out a breath, like he was trying to make himself feel bigger. “Well, I mean, it couldn’t hurt—I don’t think.”_

_You laugh, and it is mostly relief. You pull him to a stop right there, giving him a peck. And his eyes are huge in the moment, like he didn’t believe it had happened. So, you lean in again, giving him another easy kiss. Before you can pull away this time, though, he puts a hand to your cheek keeping you there for a moment longer. And you take a step closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. You break away slower that time, both of you still close, giving him an honest smile._

_“I meant it.”_

✯✯✯

Bucky fell asleep, almost immediately. And with every ounce of his weight that relaxed as the night passed, you were grateful. It couldn’t just be you; damage didn’t get fixed over one night of good rest.

You had an inkling of a doubt that it had to do with the stone Thor had used to grant you sentience. The Mind Stone. Loki used it during his invasion in 2012, and he had exploited its power to take over Clint Barton and Erik Selvig, among other things. It was insanely powerful, aside from its inherently destructive properties. The stone didn’t reside in your being, but perhaps its effects were more than permanent. It’s powers, part of them, gave it the ability to know with an easy premonition, and even, you think now, perhaps if Loki could use it for evil, making his men complacent. Then perhaps, to an extent, that’s what you were able to do now. You couldn’t fully understand the powers the Mind Stone had granted you, but maybe just being present allowed Bucky to relax.

However, the more you think of it, your new powers are a part of you, so maybe it _was_ just you.

The morning was a lovely one, it was still dim in the apartment, because Bucky’s windows were all covered up, but you could tell that the sun was shining outside, even past that, birds were chirping and there seemed to be a calm stillness to the air.

Bucky was sprawled across the bed, facing you. His long limbs were penning you in, with an arm draped over your waist and a leg kicked over yours. He looked peaceful; his brows lightly downturned like he was focused on something. You put a hand to his face, stroking his cheekbone. It wasn’t something you noticed before, but now, you could see how close the two of you were. Your chests almost touched, and really, if you moved any closer, his nose would probably hit yours.

He stirs a little bit after a moment, stretching and groaning a small bit, and he opens his eyes, signature grey and blue looking at you. You smile at him, not moving your hand from his face. “Good morning,” you say softly.

He looks at you almost a little shocked, like he wasn’t entirely expecting that you’d still be here. But then his face melts into a smile and his eyes sparkle like when the two of you were teenagers. He stretches again, crushing you a small bit against him as he does, pulling you closer. “Morning,” he says breathing out, and you can feel his breath on your neck.

You groan, shoving away a small bit, looking back at him. “You’re going to crush me.”

He smiles back at you squeezing tighter. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs, squeezing your waist.

You yelp, trying to get away, but he pulls you back arms wrapped tightly around you, though you don’t stop trying to twist away. Not until you hear the beautifully familiar sound of Bucky laughing. And you go still, eyes wide. Which just makes him laugh harder.

You’re grateful, because it was music to your ears and being alive again felt way too sweet with Steve and Bucky to share it with. You tumble yourself into him, letting him wrap you as close as possible, and you cling to him with the express purpose of never letting go. Be it here, in Bucharest, or back in New York, there wasn’t any sort of way you could comprehend leaving Bucky. There was no scenario where that made the slightest sense.

Bucky pulls back a small bit, and you ask him if he slept well. He grins, “I slept better than I have in years,” he admits easily, like he was telling you what he wanted for breakfast. You whisper a small sort of ‘good’, but he’s right there, and so are you.

And you’re not sure who leans in first, but the moment next you feel the distinctive press of his lips to yours. You sigh into it, tilting your head working to get his lips parted, and he does, groaning at the feeling before pulling away. Both of you staring at each other a bit out of breath. It ends too soon, and you lean back in, but he ducks away, smirking.

“Come on, go get ready, I’ll make some coffee,” he smiles, stretching out and sitting up. You hum, nodding and getting up, sliding out of the bed and walking to the bathroom. You freshen up, changing into some new clothes before stepping back out into the main room.

Bucky was heating something up on his stove, and you could make out the smell of coffee in the air. He had put on some pants but no shirt yet (which was fair—it was rather warm, and you imagine that it’d be a little cooler if you opened some windows or doors, though you weren’t sure if Bucky would want that). It’s easier this morning, to walk up to him, seeing him turn and nod, acknowledging you. You are _kind_ _of_ fidgeting a little bit though, because you really couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him again. You step a small bit closer, feeling the astonishingly electric touch of his arm to yours, and you turn in a little bit the moment he says, “Thank you, for last night.”

Whatever he planned on saying next must defeat him, though, because you’ve pushed up to his lips, and his eyes go lidded as he looks down at you. You look to his lips and close off the rest of the space, kissing him before he can change his mind. It’s something soft and easy, but you flick across his bottom lip and he presses back harder, his hand absently aiming to shut off the stove behind the two of you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep yourself steady against him, he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you up a small bit and you wrap your arm around his neck.

His hands move, roaming, like they always did. Grabbing at your waist and the back of your neck, before you feel the slide of his hands and fabric as he grabs at your hips. You moan into his mouth, and in response he grabs a little harder, pressing your bodies flush together. You push closer too, dragging your hands across his back, gripping for anything to hold on to.

Bucky gets it, starting to push you back, back, back, lifting you up and setting you on the long table in the small kitchen. It fixes the height difference, though the second your lips are apart you let out a breathy moan, pulling him steady against to you. He presses in, but you don’t meet his lips, huffing a small laugh.

He opens his eyes, the grey of them is soft and bright, he looks revived, honestly. And you swallow, pulling your hands away from around his shoulders and neck. He clears his throat, hands dropping from your waist. “I’m sorry,” Bucky replies, taking your sudden reluctance as his fault.

But you weren’t being reluctant, not even a little bit. You could never be averse, certainly not now. You take his metal hand in your own, lacing them together. “Can you feel? With this?” You ask him, bringing your laced hands between the two of you.

And you know already that he can, it was necessary so that he could identify if he was strangling someone strong enough to kill, or if he was applying enough pressure with a blade when he sliced the necks of his many targets. But you wanted to let him tell you, you wanted to let him get it off his chest, and he does, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I can.”

You unlace your hands, bringing his metal hand to your mouth, placing a kiss to the tips of his fingers, one by one. And you feel his breath catch, and his arm tenses. You smile up at him, placing a kiss to his index. “Relax,” and you kiss his pointer. “You can’t hurt me,” you whisper against his thumb before kissing it. You bring the palm of his hand to your mouth next, kissing the flat plane right in the middle. You look back to him as he cups your jaw, and the first thing you notice is the utterly affectionate look on his face. The same way you always were able to remember him. The same way he’s looked at you for years now, back to that first day the two of you sat in detention together.

He sighs, it’s shaky but he leans back in, kissing you once more. “Hemmingway,” he says. And the name surprises you, because the last time you had gotten one of his books was when Bucky had bought it for you (and you were rightfully upset, because that was a luxury, one that you didn’t think necessary to spend money on). “Sometimes you’d read his stuff out loud.”

You smile. “You remember that?” And he nods. You’re not sure if he’d remember the lines, let alone the book. But the text comes to your mind easy. “Maybe…you’ll fall in love with me all over again,” you recite.

“Hell,” Bucky says, resting his forehead against yours, you put a hand to his chest, the other wrapped around his neck, keeping him there. “I love you enough now,” you pull him closer. “What do you want to do? Ruin me?”

You swallow albeit a little convulsively, leaning in to kiss him, feeling his hands slide under your shirt. “Yes,” you nod against his lips. “I want to ruin you.”

Bucky picks you up, and you go with him easily. “Good,” he says, “that’s what I want too.”

✯✯✯

_“You really want to impress this girl?” You asked Bucky at lunch that day. The three of you were sat out on the bleachers behind your school._

_“Yeah,” Bucky said back. “I need something romantic; you know?” He looks to you. “Something that’ll really let her know I like her.”_

_“Well, there are a lot of different poems and stuff that you could write for her,” you say, taking a bite of your sandwich. “Maybe we could go to the library, I don’t know many off the top of my head.”_

_Bucky snorts. “Sure, let’s go do that,” he looks over to Steve, head ducked in a book. “Hey, Stevie, you coming?”_

_He looks up to the two of you, blinking hard, refocusing on the two of you. “I would, but I need to go talk to my English teacher about the essay she wants us to write,” he sighs. “I’ve got no clue what I’m doing with it.”_

_“Fair enough,” Bucky says, the three of you packing up, heading back to the school._

_As you guys walk, you shake your head. “I don’t know why you need some poet or playwright to help you tell this girl that you like her,” you say, looking to Bucky._

_“What do you mean?” He asks, putting his hands in his pockets._

_You shrug, looking down at the ground. “I dunno, you should just tell her that she’s beautiful, tell her that when she looks at you, it feels like you could fly. Tell her that if your love was an ocean, there wouldn’t be any land,” you look back to him. “Surely that would work just as well, right?”_

_He shrugs, walking forward. “Maybe.”_

_The library was always empty, and today was no exception. Steve had split up a small bit earlier, heading off to go talk to his teacher. You and Bucky had walked past the aisles of books to the smaller section that was closer to the back. The poetry section was small, which was fair, there wasn’t much your school could get a hold of to start, but even then, not many students enjoyed reading it._

_You pull out some John Donne, flipping through, trying to find anything Bucky could use._

_Bucky was standing next to you, slightly close, but he reaches past you to a different book, reading some Walt Whitman, though he sighs not even two seconds later, replacing it. “None of these poems sound right.”_

_You snort, replacing your own book, “you barely even looked.”_

_“Yeah well,” he says waving absently. “I think I know what sounds right,” he says, and you realize how alarmingly close he is from where he’s standing behind you._

_You turn, but it’s stuffy and you find yourself pressed against the shelf a small bit. “What’s that?” You ask._

_Bucky is staring down at you, eyes lidded, and he shakes his head lightly, biting his lip a small bit before letting it roll. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he starts. “When you look at me—I,” he laughs, it’s short and borderline serious before he relaxes. “It feels like I’m flying.”_

_“Bucky—” you start to say, because your heart was going to rip out of your body at this rate._

_“If my love for you was an ocean,” he begins, taking your hands in his. “there wouldn’t be any land.”_

✯✯✯

The shower of his place was cramped and small, but that’s kind of what you guys needed in the moment. It was a beautiful wreck of hands and mouths and steam, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. The two of you didn’t do much other than sway together, letting the scorching water wear you down. And by the time you reach for the lever, shutting the water off, the bathroom is sweltering and Bucky doesn’t even really let you touch the ground, carrying you way too easily, his mouth on yours, and then on your neck.

And you writhe as he works, shaky breaths pushing out of you as you tangle your hands in his wet hair. You feel your back shove into the mattress below, and Bucky’s right there with you, body pressed into yours as he bites at your bottom lip.

It’s almost delicate, how you hook your leg at his waist, pulling him closer (as if that’s possible at this point). You rock upwards and his head dips down when you do, which makes you do it again, because the noises he was making and the way his body reacted felt way too good in every sense of the word. He moved in response, punctuating each roll of your hips with a thrust and, honestly, it felt like your breath was getting fucked out of you.

You try for a kiss, but both of you are breathless and it falls short because the next moment you feel the strongest spark across the back of your neck, spreading to the farthest reaches of your body as you dip your head back, body going tight, crashing like an ocean to shore, the same moment that Bucky does.

He manages to catch your lips in his, briefly. The moment after, though, the two of you catching your breath. Enjoying the calm hum of life outside.

“I glow,” you say after he lays back, bringing you close to him. Bucky looks to you when you say that.

“What do you mean?” He asks, rubbing small circles with his hand at your waist.

“When I was given this body, part of the power source that helped, it, well, did _something_ to me,” you explain. “And now, I have this strange glow—here,” and you take Bucky’s metal hand from your waist, bringing it to your hand, bringing the two palms close together, but not touching, and slowly, the yellowy glow that you seemed to emanate was reflected on the metal. “Sometimes I see it, just casually, when I’m doing nothing but living, and it,” you trail off, trying to find the right words. “It makes me feel—”

“abnormal,” Bucky says. And you nod because, _yes_ , exactly that. “Yeah,” he smiles to you, lacing your hand with his and pulling it to his chest. “I get that.”

“Steve used to talk about that,” you say. “Remember that?” And Bucky nodded. “Always used to talk about how strange it felt to think and move faster than everyone around him.”

“Like he had to think to slow himself down, so he didn’t freak people out,” Bucky said. “Or how he felt like a freak when he would remember things after taking less than a glance at them.”

You chuckle, stretching out, leaning over Bucky, giving him another kiss. “I guess we’re each of us a little abnormal now.”

Speaking of Steve, your phone—which you hadn’t moved or checked since the night before, started vibrating and buzzing like crazy from where you left it on Bucky’s makeshift shelf. It was a little strange, because it gave you an uneasy feeling, so you grabbed one of the blankets, pulling it around you, waking over to it (despite Bucky’s protests). Once you get closer, though, you can see it’s Steve that’s calling you and you pick up.

“Steve, hi,” you say into the line. “Is everything okay?”

“Thank god you picked up,” he sighs. “Sharon wanted to give us a heads up, but work just called her in,” Steve continues.

You nod. “Joint terrorism task force, right?” You look back to Bucky who had sat up, reaching over to a dresser and pulling out some new clothes. “What exactly does that have to do with us?” You ask.

“Word got back to Ross—Everett Ross,” Steve says, hoping you’d fill in the blanks.

Luckily, your mind does. _Everett Kenneth Ross,_ he was a high-ranking CIA officer, but started working as an Air Force pilot. He’s the present leader of the task force that Sharon currently works for. “Oh, I see,” you say, keeping your voice calm.

“There are a lot of people that would like to see the Winter Soldier apprehended for his crimes,” Steve says, hiding his dread with the same voice he would use back during the war, when he wanted to sound brave.

“What do you want me to do?” You ask, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

“Nothing, not yet,” Steve says. “I didn’t want to worry either of you,” he sighs into the line. “I thought we could get it under control back here, but he knows how close I am to Bucky. And—” his voice wavers a little bit, like he’s thinking. But he stops. “No,” he decides. “I’ll be there soon, Sharon gave us a head start.”

“How long?” You ask, trying to shake the unease from your bones.

“Just flew over Vienna, so no more than an hour now,” Steve says. “I’ll see you then, okay?”

You nod, saying bye and hanging up. Turning back to face Bucky.

“What did he want?” He asks, standing up, far more clothed, pocketing his hands, rocking on his heels a small bit.

“Nothing,” you shrug, but your unease gives you away, and he just cocks a brow in response. You shake your head. “He’s on his way,” Bucky’s eyes go a little wide, brows upturning, “I need to get dressed.”

✯✯✯

_I_ _t couldn’t have been any longer than a week after you had finally warmed up to Bucky when the three of you were hanging out after school one day._

_“Hey, promise me!” You laughed, the three of you were sat in a circle in Steve’s backyard. And Bucky wouldn’t stop ripping up the grass, dropping it in Steve’s lap (Steve was rightfully getting annoyed by it, because he was getting tired of getting up to dust off his pants, and Bucky thought it was hilarious). “Bucky—Stop it!”_

_He frowned at you next. “Hey I’m not doin’ anything wrong!” He said, plucking more grass and dumping it in Steve’s lap. He laughed when Steve shoved at him. “And promise you what?” He asks after a moment._

_“Promise that we’ll stay friends,” you say, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “All of us, no matter what.”_

_"That’s stupid,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “No one stays friends forever.”_

_You frown, smacking his knee. “Well we’re going to!”_

_"What if something really bad happens?” Steve asks._

_“I think it would be okay,” you offer him. “If we stick together.” The two of them share a look like they don’t believe you. But you just shake your head, pulling a strand of grass from Steve’s pants, holding it to Bucky. “Promise?”_

_His brows furrow, but he’s smiling—always curious. He nods big. “I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.” You smile, grabbing his hand and tying the blade of grass around his index finger with a firm knot._

_You take another strand, holding it to Steve next. “Promise?”_

_And Steve smiled too. “I promise, cross my heart and hope to die,” and he gives you his hand, where you take the blade of grass and tie it to his index finger with a knot._

_“What about you?” Bucky asks, holding a blade of grass to you. “Do you promise?”_

_And you nod, holding out your hand. “I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.”_

✯✯✯

Steve doesn’t enter through the front door, like you’d expect. In fact, he enters through the back door, and it was a little startling, because neither you nor Bucky was expecting it. But the moment the doorknob started to rattle, Bucky shoved you behind him and the whirring in his arm began to start up. Though it stops, and the next minute you hear Bucky go: “Steve,” like all the air had left his lungs.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says after, equally amazed. Like neither of them could really comprehend that the other really existed. You peek out from behind Bucky, and Steve relaxes even more when he sees you too.

And you’re pretty amazed, because you had seen Steve in the many versions of his Captain America get up, but never one from this century, and certainly not ever in person. It’s kind of insane how nice he looks. It was a pretty upgrade from the one he wore during his time in the army.

Bucky turns down to you a small bit. “He’s still annoying, right?”

You nod, the action coming easy. “And you’re still dramatic,” you say.

“And you’re still short,” Steve says to you, hands buckling at his belt. Bucky laughs at that, and you whack his arm, but he just wrestles you until you’re tucked at his side. Almost protectively. It was too light for the circumstances.

Though, what else was new.

“What are we dealing with?” Bucky asks.

“Your location got leaked to the CIA,” Steve says. “We thought we had more time, but it got cut short.”

“Great,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “Okay,” he straightens out. “You take her, I’ll go.”

“What? No,” you say to him. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not leaving you, Bucky,” Steve says, taking a step forward. “We’re leaving—all of us—together.”

“And you would be right,” A voice calls out from past Bucky’s door, moments before it’s busted open. Steve pushes past you, and Bucky shoves you back. “Please save your antics for another fight, gentlemen,” and you peek to the side of Steve, seeing Everett Ross standing there.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, his hands curling into fists.

“Preferably both of you, in custody,” he says, crossing his arms. “The girl too.”

“Why?” Steve says, and his voice is nothing short of angry.

“Questioning,” Ross says. “She was taken prisoner by HYDRA as well—and with all those files that got released, she seemed to know quite a bit.”

“And if we go?” Bucky asks, Steve shoots him a sharp look.

“If you _cooperate_ ,” Ross continues, “things will be easier, I assure you.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, surely to say something or another about how he would never willingly go with the people who want to put Bucky on trial, but then Bucky speaks first. “We’ll go. All of us.”

Ross smiles at that. “Good,” and he waves a hand in the air, the three of you getting escorted out.

The building the three of you are taken to is large and glass and honestly, very pretty. Once the three of you are through the main doors, you take notice that many of the people standing there now were people you knew. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton. Even Thor was standing around, making conversation with a secretary who looked like she might faint.

Tony comes up to the three of you first. “Steve I’m sorry, I did everything I could to shake their tail—”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, nodding. He had taken off his uniform, but his shield was still slung around his arm. “Thank you for trying.”

Tony just nods, catching you next. “How’s the body?” He asks casually.

You shrug, but nod. “Kind of awesome, actually.”

“Stark,” Ross says walking past the three of you. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ve got three very important interrogations to run,” he says, tilting his head to the three of you. You catch Bucky roll his eyes, and you snort. Steve elbows you in the ribs. Ross turns back to the three of you, squinting, but he turns back around. “Excuse us.”

Natasha comes up to him next. “I’m so sorry Mr. Ross,” she says sweetly. “Is there any real reason you want to interrogate them?”

Clint comes up behind her, frowning. “Yeah, Captain America was my childhood hero, no way he’s a war criminal now.”

Ross stammers a small bit. “I never said—” he starts, sighing and pinching his nose bridge. “Okay, alright,” Ross said, snapping his fingers a small bit. “Separate these three, I want two interrogation rooms and a cell for Barnes, there.”

“ _What_?” You say, body going cold. “No—” you start. They had already handcuffed him on the way over, and he had looked so defeated. “Don’t do that—” you start, but they’ve already got two guards leading Steve away, and now two on either side of you, walking you a different direction. You begin to fight, something about this was painfully similar.

There were too many things painfully familiar about getting Steve and Bucky ripped away from you. There was something painfully familiar about the way that these guards handled you. Like you were seeing Bucky in that pristine room back in Russia before Zola cut you away. Before you were too scared to even think about them, about Bucky. because you knew you were just making things harder for the two of them.

You were helpless. But you weren’t helpless now.

You had lost both of them once, you weren’t going to go through that again.

Now, you’re putting up an awful fight, and the two of the guards cuff you. But you snap the cuffs easily. You’re not screaming for Bucky or Steve, but you are grunting and crying and making things as difficult as possible. You can see Bucky and Steve and Ross staring at you—none of them having moved since you snapped the cuffs.

You’ve got tears in your eyes, though they feel like they’re a million degrees. Between the cries and the way you’re gasping for breath, you’re desperately begging to go back, to let them just give you a minute. But no one is listening to you.

And it’s terribly familiar. Distressingly so.

You can hear Zola praising you, moments before he tore you to pieces. Breaking you down until you couldn’t be broken anymore. You feel Bucky, lifeless in that white room. And you can hear it, ever so clearly, like a ruler to your knuckles, like a phrase written on the chalkboard a hundred times over in detention, like getting sent to the principal’s office. You can hear him—Zola. Like a punishment. 

_'She is the key we need to pick the lock on your mind’_

_'And she will be easy to break’_ you cry, those words echoing painfully loudly in your head. that conversation had haunted you since you heard it. And then, _‘easier than you’_. Which makes your heart ache so much that you couldn’t see yourself anywhere else than getting ripped away from Bucky again.

Not again. Never again.

“ _Let him go,_ ” You scream, the same moment that Tony yells ‘ _Everyone get down!’_.

A blinding yellow light fills the space and you can hear the sound of cement cracking, debris falling, glass shattering. You blink a couple times, looking around the grand lobby of the building, feeling blinded, and after a moment, the light vanishes.

You fall to your knees, blinking hard, your vision hazy. You cough, feeling disoriented but still, you get back up. The world coming back into view around you.

The first thing you notice is that the place is a mess, there were charred bits of drywall that trailed up to the ceiling of the lobby. Much of the glass that had separated the second-floor walkways from the first floor were blown into glittery shards, and much of the woodworking (like the receptionist desk, among other things) were completely wrecked. There was a ton of dust and ash falling through the air. The marble floors were in no better shape, either. All cracked and no longer a clean white.

The next thing you notice, is that everyone was ducked down, or on the offensive. Tony’s arm had a piece of his Iron Man Armor on it, a shield projected, protecting him and Natasha. Thor had his hammer pointed at you, and was crushing Bruce in a hug, whispering something about suns or sunsets. Clint peeked out at you from behind Everett Ross (who was a small bit behind Steve, gun cocked). Steve, by the way, looked at you from past his shield, eyes wide and worried (the same way he had looked when Peggy shot at it all these years back). And Bucky was crouched slightly, his metal arm held up to guard his face, by the looks of it, it seemed like Steve was on his way to Bucky but stopped midway.

You sigh, Bucky was still there, he was _okay_. And no one stops you as you run to him, eyes pained, as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him with your head tucked into his neck. “They can’t hurt you,” you say, voice trembling and exhausted. “I won’t let them—not anymore.”

You can’t see what’s happening around the two of you, with your head tucked away, but you’re not entirely sure you care.

“Tony,” you hear Bruce clear his throat. “I—I think we need to run some more tests.”

“Hey,” you hear Steve, right next to you, and you pull away, looking at him. “Are you okay?” He asks the both of you, putting a hand to your face, eyeing for anything that would show that you were hurt.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, looking nervous. “But her?” Bucky drags out, and Steve purses his lips and nods, agreeing with whatever he was thinking about you. Though you almost tiredly just replace your position, just for a few more minutes. 

“I—” you hear Ross speak up, huffing, he sounds almost weary. “Two cells,” he directs.

Whomever he’s talking to chuckles humorlessly. “If you want her in a cell, you’re going to have to do it yourself.” And you hear the murmuring of others agreeing with that attitude.

“Cells will not be necessary, Mr. Ross,” you hear an unfamiliar voice call out. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Steve, who is that guy?” Bucky asks. And Steve must look surprised, because then Bucky asks, “What is it?”

“That’s Prince T’Challa,” Steve says, and your mind begins to run, though you feel completely drained, pulling yourself from Bucky, wavering a small bit, looking over to T’Challa. “His father is the King of Wakanda.”

“If you want to take these three out of my custody, it’s going to be a lot harder than you think,” Ross speaks up, sounding bitter.

“No need,” T’Challa speaks, his voice smoothing over Everett’s rough attitude like butter. “You can come with us…Actually,” and he looks to the others standing in the room. “All of you should come with us.”

“And where exactly are we going?” Ross deadpans, patience wearing thin.

T’Challa just smiles kindly. “Wakanda, where else?”

**"Darling"**

The plane ride over was lovely. Tony had penned Bucky into a corner, asking him questions on top of questions about the metal arm, which Bucky didn’t know too much about (you, on the other hand, knew pretty much everything about its mechanical properties, but watching Bucky get hassled by yet another Stark was too funny).

You and Steve had taken to sitting by the back of the jet, letting T’Challa and the Dora Milaje he had brought (her name was Okoye, and she was equal parts stunning _and_ downright terrifying) take care of Ross and the others on the jet, explaining the history of Wakanda, amongst other things.

“How was seeing Bucky again?” Steve asks, turning to look at you.

You still felt drained from the events that had occurred earlier, but you look away from Bucky and Tony, to answer Steve. “Better than I could’ve hoped for,” you say.

Steve pushes his lips to one side. “That’s kind of vague.”

You sigh, nodding and looking down. “He didn’t think I was real, when he first saw me—which is fair. I get it,” you look back to Bucky. “With everything he’s gone through—you too. It made sense.”

“Did he hurt you?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t sound mad, which is a relief. But he doesn’t sound pleased at the prospect either, which is reasonable.

You shake your head. “Not on purpose, no,” you start to fidget a small bit. “Actually, other than when I first saw him, I had a really good time. He’s still a really good kisser,” and you huff a little laugh, looking at Steve.

He smiles bright in response. “Thank god for that,” and he laughs a bit. “Maybe when I first ran into the Winter Soldier, I should’ve kissed him.”

You snort. “Right, because that would totally end with Bucky remembering you, and _not_ a knife in your shoulder.”

“He did actually stab me in the shoulder,” and you fully laugh at that, shaking your head, because it shouldn’t be funny.

You quiet down after a moment, your heart growing heavy and pained in your chest. “We need to tell Tony, Steve,” you say to him. “About the Winter Soldier, about his parents.”

“I did tell him,” Steve says, and you give him a surprised look.

“You did?”

Steve nods, looking down. “I told him the minute I found out. I apologized and—” Steve looks to Tony and Bucky now. “—All he wanted to do was help Bucky.”

You blink a few times. “Wow, that’s…that’s amazing.”

Steve nods, giving you a small pained smile. “You know, I think we’re going to be okay,” he says the moment next, taking one of your hands in his, tugging you over to rest on his shoulder.

You nod, squeezing his hand back, closing your eyes. “Yeah, I think so too.”

✯✯✯

_“I love you; did you know that?” Steve said to you that night. You laughed, holding him at an arms distance._

_“Seriously, Bucky? You let him get drunk?” You say, shaking your head. Bucky pulls off his own coat, then Steve’s, hanging them both up before kicking off his shoes._

_"Give me a break, I was watching him—” Bucky begins to justify._

_“You mean you were watching that girl,” Steve slurs. “Lisa,” he swats at your hand, chuckling._

_“Her name was Linda, Stevie,” Bucky smirks, walking over to Steve, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And I wasn’t watching her, darling,” he says, kissing Steve easily, and you see Steve sigh into it. “I was watching you.” Bucky says after he breaks away. He kisses you next, and you hate that you love the taste of Steve and alcohol on his lips. “And thinking about you.” He says the second your lips part._

_You hum, smiling up at him. “Thinking about me? And watching Steve?”_

_He nods responsibly. “All night, cross my heart and hope to die.”_

_“Well even I know that however much Steve had was too much,” you scold, patting Bucky’s cheek. “You know he’s got to be careful about that, Buck, or he’s going to get sick.”_

_"’M not gonna get sick,” Steve smirks, wavering, taking a step forward and tripping on the snag in the cheap rug under his feet. You step forward a small bit, catching him. “Okay, maybe I will.”_

_Bucky snorts, walking to the bedroom and tugging off his tie. “Is that a promise?” He calls out, and you can hear him fall flat into bed._

_“I’d promise you anything,” Steve whispers to you, and you smile to him, helping him stand upright._

_“How about we get you some water, and we go to bed?” You suggest, walking him to the couch in the living room. He gives you a proper smile, plopping down, eyes bugging a small bit as he tries to keep the room straight._

_Bucky was lucky, he rarely had terrible hangovers, but Steve was, well, Steve. And no doubt he’d stay in tomorrow with the windows drawn and a headache that would rip him up._

_"Sounds per—so—good,” Steve musters as you walk to grab him a full glass of water, before walking back, sitting in front of him, on the small, battered coffee table you had._

_“Alright, drink up,” you smile, handing him the glass. “As soon as you’re done, we can go to bed, okay?” Steve nods, taking a few large gulps before pulling the glass away, breathing. You chuckle, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Try not to choke.” He snorts when you say that and you shake your head, looking down. “Stevie, next time remember to take off your shoes,” you hound lightly, crouching down, pulling the laces undone._

_He got a pass tonight, because he was drunk and therefore any life lesson about dragging mud everywhere and how it was annoying to clean up probably wouldn’t stick right now. “Sorry,” Steve says, finishing the rest of his water._

_You look up to him and smile, tugging his shoes off his feet and setting them aside. You put a hand to his knee, circling it slightly, “it’s okay—” you begin to speak, but Steve’s leaned forward, sliding his lips to lock with yours. It was soft and kind and still somehow managed to leave you breathless, even after he’s let go._

_“Sorry,” Steve whispers to you again, this time far closer._

_“You said you’d promise me anything, right?” You reply, as he backs off to look at your face._

_“Yeah,” he nods._

_“Did you mean it?”_

_“Of course, I did,” he nods again, stronger—more animated._

_“Promise me you’ll never change,” you say. It felt like a tall order. Steve wasn’t entirely fit to hear the many reasons you had wanted this. And, really, you’re not too sure what about this moment had made you finally want to ask him. But you needed it. In response he just leans back in, kissing you again, though more purposefully. More sure of himself._

_“I promise,” Steve says._

_“Good,” you smile, squeezing his knee, and standing up. “Let’s go to bed.” And he stands up with you, grabbing your hand as you start to walk away._

_“Wait, promise me,” he says, pulling you back to face him, you feel his hand struggle to lace with yours, but he manages._

_“Promise you what?” You ask quietly, stepping too close for it to be casual._

_His eyes roam your face, before setting back to your eyes. He tugs your hand up, whispering against your knuckles. “Promise me you’ll never change,” and he plants a kiss to them._

_You knock your lips to his, easily, resting your forehead against his after. “I promise.”_

_Steve smiles, it’s still inebriated, and he shakes himself a little the moment next. “Good. Let’s go to bed,” and he tugs you into the bedroom, flicking off all the lights before the two of you crash into Bucky._

✯✯✯

To say that Wakanda was beautiful wouldn’t nearly be enough. The country, aside from the thicket of trees, mountains, waterfalls and rainforests, was a technological marvel. The way that their culture intertwined seamlessly with the opulent architecture in the heart of their country was stunning, and T’Challa was pleased to show it off.

“This way, everyone, please,” T’Challa said the moment next. “You each will be staying here, in the Palace,” he said, bringing the group of you to the main entrance. At the doors there were a few other people standing there. Okoye took her place past the rest of you, lining next to the other Dora who were stood to the side. “Everyone, please, my mother Queen Ramonda, my father King T’Chaka and, my sister—”

“ _Me,_ ” the younger girl standing there speaks up, walking forward. “Shuri—I’m the one who designs all the tech you’re seeing.”

“Shuri,” T’Challa scolds, though he’s smiling at her.

“Okay, not all of it, but most,” Shuri says, shooting a smart look at her brother.

“I’ll have you each taken to your rooms, tonight is no night to discuss… _Business_ ,” T’Challa begins.

“Uh,” Everett Ross steps out from behind Tony and Clint, pushing his way forward. “No, no, I think tonight is the perfect night to discuss business,” he starts. You look over, seeing Tony roll his eyes.

It really wasn’t a good night to talk about business, the sun had started to set, it was kind of an eventful day, all of you were tired. “Mr. Ross,” T’Challa begins, standing tall. “There is plenty of time to discuss the matters at hand, for tonight, please, relax,” he looks to the rest of you. “All of you.”

“Thank you, Prince T’Challa, really, this is amazing,” Banner speaks, stepping forward. “And, actually, Shuri, if I could see where you develop all this,” he points to the world around all of you. “I’d be eternally grateful,” Shuri’s eyes sparkle and go wide, nodding eagerly.

“What? No—I—no,” Ross speaks up, clenching his jaw and sighing. “Listen, I’ve cooperated, I’ve been way too nice this whole time.”

T’Challa is the one to smile, directing all of you to follow him inside the palace. “Really, Mr. Ross?”

“If this is nice, I’d hate to see mean,” Natasha bites quietly, and Steve coughs a laugh, all of you walking in.

“Yeah, _really_ ,” Ross seethes. “I let you take the people I brought into custody, I let you bring them here. I let you bring _me_ here—”

“Please, do continue, Mr. Ross,” Shuri laughs, skipping forward and poking him in the shoulder.

“And that’s another thing, it’s _Agent_ Ross,” Everett says, walking a little faster to keep up with T’Challa.

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Bucky questions, rolling his eyes.

“Unbelievable, _unbelievable_ ,” Ross mutters, shaking his head and pinching his nose bridge.

“ _Agent_ Ross,” T’Challa smiles, putting a hand on his shoulder, stopping in the middle of the massive foyer. “Relax, nothing is going to get done in such a rush. So please, take tonight to rest, you may even join me and my—” T’Challa takes a beat to consider. “Nakia, for dinner tonight.” He decides, and when Ross doesn’t respond he considers it a win. “Good, now, you will each get shown to your rooms, but please, feel free to do as you wish.”

✯✯✯

_Bucky was sat between you and Steve on the couch, it was winter outside, and the two of you had taken to trying to suck all the heat out of him. Bucky had the daily paper in one of his hands, leg crossed loosely, his arm wrapped around Steve with you tightly tucked to his other side._

_You could barely see Steve from where he was sitting. Every now and then he’d shoot you a look and you’d stick your tongue out before the two of you would devolve into laughter, only for Bucky to shake his head, a light “Shhh…” from his lips so that he could focus on the paper._

_He kind of reminded you of his dad like this. Even when you guys were all children, Bucky’s dad always sat, paper in his hand, quietly reading away. He was an interesting man, and you could see the parts of him that Bucky now personified. It was nice, but sometimes you wonder how different Bucky would have been if his father was a different man. Though, then again, you didn’t really want Bucky to be any different than the person he was now, so it wasn’t a thought you dwelled on._

_Even Steve was quite like his mother. She was a nurse and was always so giving and kind. Strong in the same way’s that so many men were, but also so empathetic. And Steve resonated all those things. He did it in the way he always stuck up for himself, in the way he stepped between the bullies and the bullied, even when they didn’t ask. Steve always offered to help. Even when he had less to give._

_Steve, who had his mother’s heart, and his father’s jaw. And Bucky, who had the resolve and gusto of his father, but his mother’s eyes. Each of them, perfect in the way they had been molded by the world around them, for better or for worse._

_And you’d be there, for better or for worse._

_"I’m cold,” Steve said, mock shivering, pressing closer to Bucky._

_You shoot him a pissed look. “I’m freezing,” you whine, pulling your arms closer to your chest, squeezing closer to Bucky._

_Steve shakes his head. “Bucky, I’m hungry,” he says, resting his head on Bucky’s chest._

_"Yeah, well I’m starving,” you say, shoving your head onto Bucky’s chest as well, staring Steve down. “And I’m thirsty,” and you clear your throat to emphasize the point._

_Steve coughs (and you want to punch him because it sounded so real, since he was always sick anyways). “I’m thirsty too.” The two of you are shooting needles into each other with the death glares you were making._

_It was a silent competition. One of many. Who could keep Bucky’s interest and how much better or longer than the other person?_

_You smirk to Steve; it was too easy. You push up with a hand on Bucky’s thigh. “I’m bored,” you complain, meeting him at eye level._

_Steve sits up too, copying your movements. “Me too,” he whines, batting his lashes a few times._

_The next moment Bucky slaps the paper down in front of him, sighing. “For fucks sake,” he groans, scrubbing his face with his hands. And you and Steve share a defiant look at each other for the way Bucky’s begun to blush a little bit, as he swallows, each of you taking credit for it._

_Though then he’s stood up, shoving you and Steve together on the couch, wrapping a thick blanket around the two of you. “There, stay warm,” he says, grabbing another blanket and coiling the two of you together tighter. He walks off, and you and Steve share a confused look before Bucky comes back with two glasses of water, putting them down on the table in front of the two of you. “Water, because you’re both thirsty,” he shakes his head, reaching under the rickety table, tossing a book next to you. “If you’re bored, read that,” and he pushes Steve’s head down onto your shoulder, “rest.” And he walks off._

_“Where are you going?” Both you and Steve ask at the same time._

_Bucky sighs, turning back to the pile of you both, pursing his lips like he was thinking of something before shaking his head. “You guys just said you were hungry, I’ll make something.”_

_"Oh,” Steve says, and the two of you look at each other._

_“Yeah,” Bucky says coolly , walking into the kitchen._

_You and Steve share a defeated look realizing that both of you had completely failed to keep Bucky’s attention. There were no winners this time around, though it never ended any differently. And because of that you and Steve go from shooting daggers into each other to laughing, feeling like total idiots._

_From the kitchen, you could hear the faintest “Shhh…” And the two of you did as you were asked, warmly pushing closer under the blankets as your laughter subsided._

✯✯✯

And with that, you’re led to your room. What you’re not expecting is how large it is. You’re not expecting the doors that give way to the bedroom sat at the far end with magnificent stained windows. The bedroom was a delicate white but with the setting light filtering through, the room was smeared in all kinds of colors. The bedsheets, the ground, the walls, all of it was painted, washed in colour.

T’Challa had invited everyone to dinner. A welcome party of sorts, or so you think. Though, really, you had nothing to wear to a party. Regardless of that aspect, showering sounded nice, so that was the first thing to cover and _wow_ the washroom here put the one Steve had in Avengers Tower to absolute shame.

The bathtub was huge and deep, the shower was all marble and could fit a wonderful bunch of people, you’re sure. There was a floor to ceiling mirror, and there were flowers and greenery everywhere. And you recall what Steve had told you not even a few days ago. You could order anything to your door these days (and that concept had always been around for hotels but did palaces count?). You hop back out to the bedroom, and sure enough there’s a phone there (though it looks more like a conference phone) and you notice a small note placed next to it, written in a delicate cursive it reads: ‘please, enjoy your time’. When you run your hand over the top of the phone-thing, the faintest hologram of a person shows up.

“Good evening,” they speak to you.

“Oh, hello,” you say, mildly surprised. “I was wondering if I could order something to eat?”

“Absolutely you can,” the person speaks back to you, nodding. “What did you have in mind?”

You laugh. “Oh, good question, I’m not too sure,” you bite your lip. “Chocolate? Maybe some dessert?”

The person smiles and nods. “Absolutely, I’ll pick some of our finest and have it sent up,” they’re quiet for a beat longer. “Will you not be joining the Prince for dinner tonight?”

“Ah, I’m not sure,” you drawl. “I’m kind of tired, and even then, I have nothing particularly nice to wear.”

“I understand,” they nod. “If you reconsider, please check the second door to the left in your room. I think you’ll find something suitable in there.”

You thank them easily, the hologram dissipating. You tug off your clothes, reaching for one of the silky robes you saw hanging in the bathroom. You weren’t sure how long it would take for what you ordered to make its way up to you, but in the meantime, there was no real need not to relax, right?

You pad through the main area of your room, noting the second door to the left of your bedroom door. What was it that person had said? There was something in there if you reconsidered going to dinner, right? Might as well look. You open the door and are floored immediately.

All the walls are covered in clothes of different colors and cuts. And surely, if you wanted to go to T’Challa’s dinner tonight, you’d be able to find something suitable to wear quite easily. You reach out to feel the nearest one, and its velvet under your palm. Though then there’s a knock at your door and you run over to answer it, seeing now that it’s all the desserts and chocolates you had ordered earlier. The man smiled kindly, as you thanked him, rolling the cart in before leaving (not before you thanked him at least twice more).

You eyed the display over, picking a chocolate that had a deep purple petal on top, popping the whole thing in your mouth. Your mouth watered for more at the taste. Rich, yes, but also almost lilac. You eat a few more before you trot back to the bathroom, filling up the tub and preparing it almost the same way you used to prepare baths for Bucky during his and Steve’s time with the Howling Commandos. Soap and lavender, and back then, it wasn’t much, because each of you were poor and the water never got hot enough (but you made do). Now, the water was scalding (perfectly so) and the smell of lavender and chocolate—even the glimmer of gold flecks in the water—were all so _opulent_ , so ritzy and splendid that even though Bucky hadn’t asked, you wanted him to enjoy this.

More than that, you wanted to join him.

In the past he would always complain that the water would cool too fast, and you would always bite back the urge to go ‘ _well I could think of a way to heat things up_ ’ because that wouldn’t have been right. Though, looking back, maybe it would have been.

Regardless, you dip into the bath, dropping your robe, letting the water coil and wrap you in pressure and heat. It was relaxing and it lets you zone out. It was blissfully quiet and, really, you hadn’t noticed how loud the twenty first century was until this moment. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and you couldn’t hear the world outside, and that was all the peace you needed.

You couldn’t tell if it was minutes later, or hours, but you can hear knocking at your door, which you rightfully ignore, groaning and shoving your head under water for a few moments before resurfacing, pushing your hair out of your face.

“What are you doing?” Bucky says to you, and you turn to see him leaning at the door of the washroom. You look him up and down, he’s dressed up, a deep red shawl draped across his shoulders, over top of his black shirt, dress pants and shoes. He takes a few steps in, cocking his brow. “We’ve got dinner to attend.”

“I didn’t plan on going,” you say, sitting a small bit up in the water, crossing your arms, trying to figure out how he got into your room (it probably was because you never locked the door after all the stuff you had ordered arrived).

He smiles, walking the rest of the way in, not breaking eye contact. He crouches next to the edge of the tub, looking at you, though his eyes trail easily to the water, noting the glint of gold flecks and hints of lavender. “We need to, it’s a courtesy,” he says, though it sounds like he’s mocking Steve a little bit. “And who knows,” his eyes trail back up, looking to your eyes. “Maybe you’ll have fun.”

You smirk, biting your lip. “Fun, huh?” You test. And you take to unwinding your arms, pulling yourself to the edge of the tub where he is, leaning in close, resting your head on your arms, looking up to him. “I’m having plenty.” You’re close enough to eye the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat, and you bite your cheek to stop smiling. You push up a little, damp hands wrapping around his shawl, pulling him closer, the hot, soapy water lurching and rolling around you as you move. “You could stand to have some more, though, don’t you think?” You say, your wet lips sliding against the warm skin of his jaw.

He might nod at that, but you’re not too sure, because you pull him down against your lips, kissing him fervently, your hands still on his shawl, tugging him farther and farther over the edge of the bath. His hand slips slightly from the edge, though, and he breaks away to catch himself. You bite your own lip, bringing a hand to his cheek, “get in here,” you whisper.

He licks his bottom lip but shakes his head. “As tempting as that is,” he starts, you groan. “Steve’s been helping himself to the chocolates and desserts you ordered, and if you take any longer, he’s going to destroy his appetite.” Bucky says, getting up, adjusting his clothes a small bit.

You can’t help but pout just a bit, pulling the plug on your bath, reaching around for the robe you had carelessly tossed on the ground earlier. You find it, standing up, throwing it on and tying it, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t dried off at all and now had the thing clinging to you like a second skin. And it doesn’t help your modesty when you step out of the bath and the left side rucks up a small bit, clinging to your upper thigh.

In all fairness, the robe wasn’t the longest to start, but that certainly didn’t help. “Bucky Barnes,” you poke into his chest. “Always so punctual, now, tell me, when did that start?” You ask playfully, though the way he’s looking at you—the way he _has_ been looking at you since you stepped out of the bath—is enough to eat you alive. You walk past regardless, taking long, slow steps to the main room, because if Steve was ruining his appetite, you were going to as well. Especially if the two of them were going to make you go to this dinner.

You can make out Steve standing there—equally as dapper and dressed, his shawl off and placed next to him. He turns around when he hears you walking, chocolate in his hand, he sees you and blinks a few times, a blush starting to crawl its way onto his face, and the chocolate starts to melt onto his fingers. “Hey,” he starts, and you ignore it when he looks you up and down.

“Enjoying dessert?” You smile, squeezing his arm, taking a different chocolate and popping it into your mouth. You sigh, head falling back and your eyes sliding shut at the taste. You absently lick your lips, savoring it, before you open your eyes to grab another one, seeing Steve stare at you wide eyed. You snort. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says slowly, and you notice the chocolate shrinking in between his grasp, as more begins to melt onto his fingers and the napkin he was holding below it.

You smile. “This isn’t nothing,” you purr slightly, turning to him, taking a deliberate step closer. “Can I?” You ask, though Steve’s brows just furrow a small bit, “here,” you say, and you tilt your head to the side a small bit, taking his hand, carefully licking the melted chocolate from between his fingers. He inhales sharply at the sensation, and you look back to him as you take his pointer finger into your mouth, sucking on it slightly, licking the chocolate off, letting your tongue twirl around and around. You repeat the action with his thumb next. You barely register that his other hand has found its way to your hip until he pulls you closer. You don’t realize how hot his breath is, until its seconds from your lips.

And you don’t realize how fucking bad you want to kiss him before Bucky’s pulled you away, your back pressed to his chest as he hauls you right off the ground, and Steve’s right there with him. You shudder as the air slides around your body, as Bucky’s mouth finds its way to the back of your neck, as you feel Steve’s hand begin to absently trail your thigh. You let out an erratic breath. “We’re going to be late.”

“Yeah well, what else is new,” Bucky rumbles into your ear, flipping you and shoving you down onto the bed, your back meeting the cool blankets below.

✯✯✯

_“Come with me,” Bucky smiled at you tonight. “It’ll be fun!”_

_“It wouldn’t be any fun with me there, trust me,” you say shaking your head, rummaging through the small dresser in your bedroom, looking for Steve’s pencil sharpener._

_“You don’t know that,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “You’ve never even gone.”_

_“Yeah I have,” you justify, though all three of you know that’s a blatant lie. You’ve never gone to a club or speakeasy or any of that because you didn’t really want to fret at a bar while you watched Bucky drink and dance around. It was nice enough having him come home every night, drunk, sure, but tired and pliable and happy to see you. You weren’t too curious about how he got to be like that._

_“No, you haven’t,” Bucky says right on beat. “Listen—Hey, c’mon,” he says, pulling you back from where you had started to look elsewhere for the sharpener. “I want you to come with me,” you shake your head looking down, but he brings a hand to your chin, making you look back up to him. “Come dance with me.”_

_You didn’t get it now, the same way you hadn’t gotten it all this time back when Bucky asked that you go to his prom with him. What was it about him that gave him the urge to show you off? Steve too. Like there was something to show in the first place._

_To him, there was. He’d always say ‘everything’. All the things that make you who you are, that the way that you talk and move and feel. He wanted to show it all off. He wanted the world to see you the way he saw you._

_And it was a lovely sentiment, even now. It would’ve been fun; Bucky was fun to be around. “It’s cold out,” you begin and Bucky groans. “And my coat is kind of flimsy,” you said, chuckling humorlessly._

_Bucky had begun talking over you, going, “no, no, no,” trying to stop the excuses falling from your mouth. “You can wear my coat, I’ll buy you a drink,” he starts. “I’ll do laundry for a month, I’ll do anything you want me to,” and he sighs. “Just come out with me tonight.”_

_You frown, why was he being so persistent? What was the point of that? It was just a night out, how much could it possibly mean? Though Bucky was stubborn, and when he wanted something, he’d go to the ends of the earth to make them happen. He’d move heaven and earth just to get his way, even if it didn’t work out for him in the long run, so this was no different._

_Maybe it was because he just wanted to drink and dance tonight without having to make the work of finding a partner, maybe he wanted company. And since Steve was officially done with going out because of how horrible his hangovers were the next day, he wanted you._

_Regardless, you sighed, “fine,” and he perked up excited. “Let me change and we can go.”_

_"Yes, perfect, I’ll go put on my shoes,” Bucky said, and you laughed because he sounded like a child._

✯✯✯

There was something elusive about the way that Bucky and Steve slowly lost their clothes. How their clothes actually _did_ finally manage to come off, while you were stuck tugging at your flimsy robe for far too long. There was something about the way it clung to you that Bucky and Steve found deeply endearing, or so you think. Because, every time your hand came close to untying the fragile knot, Steve would pull your hand away by the wrist, pressing it into the bed or behind your back. Or Bucky would let you tug at it, just barely, watching as the knot would begin to slide, before he would wrench your hand away, lacing it with his own.

It was slow to start, because Bucky and Steve kind of liked taking things slow. You enjoyed it too, how could you not? But after what felt like years of clinging to Bucky’s shirt as he bit and licked you, he _finally_ lost it. Letting you tug it off his body, (the shawl long gone) trailing kisses as you undid each button, and Steve was lying back, his hands trailing up and down your thighs. You did turn then, and Bucky, who was stood up, right at the edge of the bed, let his hands drop down, squeezing your waist, running his hands over everything he could feel. And you could barely think as you pulled Steve up, his chest against yours, so you could take his shirt off, your head resting on Bucky’s bare stomach as you worked.

Your hands made their way to Steve’s belt, working it off, undoing the first button of his pants before he’s completely grabbed you, pulling you into his lap letting his cock grind against you though his pants, suddenly, all of you, were very desperate to feel anything. And you made a noise the three of you had never heard before, Steve must like it, because he grips you tighter, holding you against him harder.

There was something about the way that Bucky worked you that made you turn into the most incomprehensible mess. Just by sliding his tongue down your neck, down and down, before you tugged him back up, because for some reason his tongue fit perfectly in your mouth, sliding against yours, while Steve made easy work of your body, rubbing into it, sliding his hands just right—to leave you completely wrecked.

You still hadn’t even entirely lost your robe when Steve pulled you back into his lap, his arms pressing your back flush to his chest, his mouth marking every part of skin he could reach. His cock was already throbbing as he moved, lining himself up easily, your back arching, body writhing as he began to work out a rhythm.

And Bucky found himself with his legs hooked over yours and Steve’s, getting as close as he could (no matter how much closer you managed to tug him). His lips on yours, his tongue pressed deep as he moved powerfully, languidly. All while you sat in Steve’s lap, letting him do absolutely hot, wildly frantic things to you.

Steve was always warm, temperature wise, and now was no exception, all three of you were sweat slicked. And it certainly didn’t reduce with the way your panting got more desperate, your pleas becoming reduced against Bucky’s mouth into small phrases that you could never complete, before you reach a hand back to Steve’s hair, tugging on it harshly, as he licked a rather sensitive spot of your neck. You felt your body go completely taut between the two of them, moaning into Bucky’s mouth, feeling Steve grab at your waist with astounding pressure as he finished as well. It only added to the moment, making your body twitch at the feeling.

It couldn’t have been much longer after that, where you found yourself kneeling on the ground, a hand sprawled across Bucky’s stomach, the other grabbing at his hip. Steve sat close behind him, watching the two of you, Bucky was pretty much leaning against his chest. Steve was smiling against Bucky’s neck, whispering something into his ear that—mixed with the fact that your mouth happened to be wrapped around his cock—was making _him_ turn into a moaning mess. Steve said something to Bucky that ended in, ‘ _see?_ ’ and Bucky opened his eyes slightly, looking down at you before he convulsively swallowed. Eyes rolling shut as a breathy ‘oh _god_ ’ resounded from him, making his dick twitch in your mouth.

You swallow around him, getting the same reaction, as Steve gave you fucking _perfect_ praise. He reached over to you the next moment, running a finger around the tug of your lips, slipping a finger into your mouth alongside Bucky and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes closed at the feeling. It was moments then, your throat doing most of the work. Bucky’s breathing became more inconsistent, his stomach flexing and going loose a few times, as his legs did the same, flexing and relaxing over and over, until his head rolled back, smacking Steve’s chest and his whole body tensed. And you swallowed everything, like a champ.

You pull off with a few more swirls of your tongue, knowing damn well Bucky would be oversensitive, before the two of them pull you back onto the bed with them. The three of you catching your breath together. It was calm and quiet, and you were very happy. You felt yourself drifting off for a moment, your breath finally coming to a slow, before Steve speaks up next.

“Dinner,” he says. And you and Bucky groan. “Don’t pull that,” Steve scolds. “We’re already— _shit_ ,” He shouts, shooting up. “We’re over half an hour late.”

“Oh fuck,” you say hopping off the bed next. “Okay, I’ll go find, uh, something,” you shrug, walking as fast as you can to the closet, pulling out a deep red dress. You had dried off pretty well from everything that had happened, and even though it would’ve been nice to quickly shower off, you were going to have to make do (hoping that you didn’t look as fucked out of your mind as you felt). The dress you pick was more like a long winding robe that you would have to wrap around yourself a few times and secure with a belt, but it was lovely. And as you begin to throw it on, you realize that it’s comfortable as well. What a lovely win.

You look over to see Bucky and Steve scrambling to re-buckle their belts, tuck in their shirts, and comb down their hair. It was cute. You run back to the washroom briefly to pat some of the red lipstick you had seen (compliments of Wakanda, yet again) on to your lips, hoping it makes you look a bit more put together. And luckily, the three of you had managed to pull it together in give or take three minutes flat.

You haul on the first pair of sandals you see in the closet, walking back out to the door, opening it. “Alright,” you sigh. “Dinner, we can do that, right?” Bucky and Steve just give you an unsure chuckle.

✯✯✯

_The two of you were walking home that night, it was cold out, Brooklyn was in the thick of winter, so the world was white around the two of you, quiet but for the crunch of your shoes and the way your breaths turned the air opaque. “So, what did you think?” Bucky asked you._

_“It was fun,” you said, smiling to him. And that much was true. The bar was a small one, but amidst the coats and slippery floor, everyone was in a good mood. It was warm and the way that the alcohol burned your throat as you drank it made you feel like a furnace. Like you could stroll outside without a coat._

_“Just fun?” Bucky asks you, the two of you coming to a stop at a walkway. “Seemed like you were having more than just fun,” he pokes, jabbing you a little bit with his elbow._

_“Sure, more than ‘just fun’,” you decide, smiling back at him. He seems pleased at that, eyes crinkling as the two of you stood there. It was an empty night, there was no need to wait for the roads to clear to walk past, yet, here the two of you were. Standing around with each other, waiting for the light to change._

_You think back to the bar. Thinking about the way Bucky had pulled you to dance with him. The way he was focused on you the whole night. How you used to wonder how girls would feel, seeing Bucky sitting there, and even more so, how they would feel when he got up to talk to them. Now you knew, you knew firsthand. It was exactly the same feeling you got when he hauled you up to go nap with him for sure, but dialed to a hundred._

_There was something about the way that he so openly picked you and Steve that made your gut knot up in the best way possible. And you wondered, surely, he had the same feeling about the way that you picked him and Steve. And surely Steve felt the same way about Bucky having picked him and you. There was something lovely about the way it was equal, mutual._

_And dancing with Bucky in public was far different than the way you two would dance at home. At home it was quiet and lazy, you wanted to say intimate, but you weren’t sure. Out here, he was deliberate, closer but in a way that brought his hand higher at your waist, your head against his neck, his breath against your ear. The praise was the same, but hearing it whispered to you around other people made your legs feel weak for all the reasons you deliberately ignored._

_Now, you’ve linked your arm with his, resting your head against his arm. “I definitely had a lot of fun, thank you,” you said, head going fuzzy as he looked down to you, smiling before he placed a kiss to your forehead._

_“That’s my girl.”_

✯✯✯

Once the three of you make it down to the dining hall, you notice that everyone is sat at quite a large table, and the three spots reserved for you, Steve, and Bucky are the only one’s empty. The others exclaim when they see the three of you though, T’Challa stands up, beckoning the three of you over to sit and join them.

“We’ve barely begun, please sit,” he said, replacing his own spot at the head of the table, you notice now that sitting next to him was Nakia, and adjacent to her was Shuri. The three of you take your spots, with you sat next to Steve and Bucky across from the two of you. A few servers come around, placing a dish in front of you, and you ask for water (you weren’t sure if you could get drunk with the way you were, but you didn’t think that now—being in the company of royalty—was the ideal way to find out).

The dinner continues, and you’re focusing all your energy on not looking absolutely dopey and in love. But you must be failing, because Tony (who was already on his third glass of something dark and rich) shook his head at you, asking if you had a loose wire as he watched you brandish your thumb across your bottom lip for the hundredth time. You laughed a little too loudly at that, “What? No, come on.” You snatch your hand away, looking to see Agent Ross sat next to Clint, looking all kinds of annoyed and dreadful as he ate.

Thor was sat by Natasha, and you watched him with a great deal of interest, because he was being so delicate with the cutlery and dishes. It was kind of comical with how burly he was, but he treated all of it with a great care. It kind of reminded you of Steve when he first got his powers, and he walked around like he was afraid he would break through the ground if he wasn’t careful enough.

And to Bucky’s dismay, Tony was sat right by him, talking on and on about mechatronics and biomechanical engineering to Bruce, and you could hear Bucky’s internal monologue, wishing he could get drunk (because he had the same issue as Steve now, where regular alcohol didn’t get him drunk in the slightest). And even though he knew that he couldn’t, he still downed his glass, which one of the servers filled right back up.

“You and me both, pal,” Clint says to Bucky, and you see Bucky smirk as the two of them cheers, downing their freshly topped off drinks.

You tried to keep your eyes down at your plate, but with the way Bucky tipped his head back, the way he drank all of it, letting out an elated sigh once he was done. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Not until you felt Steve’s leg press against yours under the table, somehow the feeling pushed past all the layers of your clothes.

That’s another thing you noticed as everyone ate. How easygoing it all was, for one. But also, how kind T’Challa was as a leader, how charismatic and calm he managed to keep in this room of company. He managed to keep the conversation light and easy, only saying things that had gravity every now and then.

He was talking to Steve, regarding something Tony had said about heightened abilities. You were surprised with how easy T’Challa took to the conversation, explaining his own take on the whole idea to Steve, who was listening with a great deal of interest. It was kind of cute, how focused Steve looked, and you carefully rested your hand on his knee under the table, out of eyesight, slowly circling the fabric of his pants with your index.

You think that maybe Steve doesn’t notice, because he certainly doesn’t acknowledge it, and he doesn’t look your way. Though after another moment he clears his throat, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” He says to T’Challa, and you want to laugh, because no way it was that easy (apparently it was).

Once dinner is done and over, the table is pushed to the side, turning into a display of dessert and drinks. Shuri puts on some music, and everyone has gotten up to laze around and talk. It was nice, and more than that, you realize how much fun everyone is having.

You walk over to T’Challa, he’s stood talking to Shuri who walked off to go join Tony and Bruce in a discussion about the true meaning of Artificial Intelligence. And as enticing as _that_ conversation sounded, you weren’t too crazy to participate. “Thank you, Prince T’Challa,” you said.

“It’s nothing,” he smiles to you. “My Father wishes for me to practice diplomacy,” T’Challa looks to Nakia, and you follow his gaze, watching her talking to Natasha and Clint, the three of them laughing. “I wanted to show him that we should be helping others, outside our borders,” he looks back to you. “Amongst other things.”

You nod. “That’s noble, and I think the world will be better for it.”

“Thank you,” T’Challa says back, and both of you turn to see Thor talking to Bucky and Steve about a particularly strong Asgardian drink that he guarantees will get them drunk.

“Hey, you better swing some of that my way,” Tony protests, pointing a finger accusingly and walking over.

“And that’s my cue,” you smile to T’Challa before excusing yourself, walking over. Natasha gets to him first, tugging him away by his ear, muttering something in Russian. It was a relief regardless, and your eyes fall to Everett Ross, standing outside on the balcony with Shuri, she was laughing, and he seemed almost confused.

As you walk out, Shuri say something else, shaking her head and walking back in. “Enjoying the evening, Agent?”

“As much as I can,” he says to you, leaning against the rail, looking out to the city below.

You purse your lips, nodding and looking back to the party inside. “You know,” you begin, and he turns around to you, surprised you hadn’t just walked back inside at his dreary attitude. “I spent a lot of my life waiting for moments like this,” you watch as Steve throws back a shot of Asgardian alcohol, Thor clapping him on the back. Tony runs back over, wavering, with a piece of his Iron man armor on his right arm, challenging Thor to an arm-wrestling match for Mjolnir, before Clint and Natasha wrestle him away again. “Well, not exactly like this,” you clarify, Ross chuckles lightly. “But I spent a lot of my life, waiting for things to feel okay,” you look to him. “Don’t let these days pass you by,” you say, nudging his shoulder slightly, giving him a sweet smile. You got a second chance, not many other people ever do.

He smiles and nods, looking down slightly, and you weren’t sure he was capable of smiling, but he almost looked charming like this. “Thank you,” he says. “You look lovely tonight, by the way,” and you smile encouragingly, saying thank you and pecking his cheek before walking back into the party.

Shuri had put on something that was, well, it wasn’t Billie Holiday, that much you knew. But it sounded nice and slow and you loved the way that the base and beats trilled through your body as the music played on. Steve had hauled you into him with a hand on your waist, the other hand grasped dramatically in his own. “You’re killing me, darling,” he hums against you, cheeks blushed from drinking and talking.

“Darling?” You cock a brow, shaking your head, “had a bit too much of that Asgardian stuff Thor’s been parading around, huh?”

“Oh no,” he lies the next moment. “I’m completely sober, promise,” and he pulls his hand from your waist to tuck a stray hair from your face behind your ear, his hand sliding to cup your jaw.

“Wonderful,” you say, rolling your eyes, trying to stop your breath from catching in your throat. The three of you had never been anything short of friendly in public. You had never been handsy and romantic (the romantic bit was questionable), and that was something that hadn’t changed to this day. So, you and Steve keep the dancing just as that, friendly and easily loving.

Clint was talking to Bucky, the two of them leaning against the wall, bottles of beer in their hands, they seemed to get along pretty well, and that made you glad. Bucky needed friends, a support system. More people than just you and Steve who got him. Though when he sees you, he says one last thing to Clint, making him laugh before walking over.

“Having fun?” You ask Bucky, the two of you walking to the doors that lead to the balcony.

“Yeah, actually,” he answers, smiling honestly. “Though, I wish there were swings or something, y’know?”

You recall that memory with a deep fondness. “Oh yeah, that would be fun,” you say nodding.

“You know,” he starts, leaning down close to you. “We could get out of here right now,” you feel his hand snake it’s way to the small of your back. “Take that bath you were talking about?”

You swallow your blush, ignoring the way your legs were threatening to give out from under you as Bucky’s hot voice began to work you down. “What’s the rush?” You ask, swallowing, biting your lip.

Bucky smirks at you. “Rush? No rush. We can go as slow as you want—” at the same moment, Steve calls your name, and you and Bucky look over to see him wavering, taking staggering steps towards the two of you. “On second thought,” Bucky begins. “Maybe we _should_ turn in.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” you agree, both of you walking over, slinging one of Steve’s arms around each of you. The three of you ran into T’Challa on your way out, letting him know that you were calling it a night, and after a glance to Steve, he agreed that seemed like a good idea.

“So,” Bucky said, the three of you making your way out. “My room or yours?”

It decidedly, was your room. And as soon as the three of you tumbled in and Bucky locked the door Steve began humming the national anthem, pulling at his clothes. You undo the belt of your robes, letting the folds of fabric and material go loose around you.

Steve kept humming, walking over to the bed, faceplanting into it, belt unbuckled, and the first button of his pants undone as he falls asleep pretty much immediately. You look to Bucky, who’s slowly working off his own clothes, picking up Steve’s discarded shirt, draping it over a chair. “I’m pretty sure he only had two shots of the stuff Thor brought,” you say shaking your head.

Bucky laughs at that, hands working his own clothes. “Still a lightweight, I’m not surprised.” He turns away, pulling his shawl off and laying it on the chair as well.

Sleep would be the responsible thing to do. And being responsible is exactly what you needed to be right now. But with the way Bucky had been talking to you tonight, your body kind of ached. And surely, he wouldn’t mind if you pulled him around. No way would he mind if you watched him, pulling his hair out of the loose bun he had it in all night, running your hands through it. And— _fuck_ , the way the moonlight lit up his eyes, he looked perfect.

If he had any objections, he certainly didn’t voice them as you kissed. And you certainly didn’t object as his hands found themselves tangled in the folds of your robe, carefully twirling you out of them. You let him lead you against the frame of the doors that led to the bedroom, and you arch into him, like you were begging with your body for him to hold you closer. Bucky breaks away, letting both of you catch your breath, his hands found their way to the bare skin at your hip, stroking it.

You look to him, and he smirks at you, the smudge of lipstick you had put on streaked across his mouth, his hair wild from the way you had grabbed at it. “Let’s go to bed,” Bucky says, and you agree.

The first thing you do is shove Steve to the middle, pulling his belt off. Once you do, though, he drapes a heavy arm around your waist, and you gasp as he pushes you into the middle. You were still shroud in a mess of fabric, though it was more comfortable than you would’ve thought.

Bucky wraps himself around you as well, and the three of you begin to fall asleep the way you always have. Each of you were different, new bodies and abilities, sure.

But it felt like nothing had changed at all.

**"Home"**

T’Challa had invited everyone to visit Shuri’s lab, it was located in Mount Bashenga, and to the absolute surprise of everyone, there was vibranium everywhere. Even Agent Ross was deeply amazed by the view of the inside of the mountain, watching as mag-lev carriers sped past, carrying deactivated vibranium in glass vials.

It was promised that today Ross would get his interrogations, though everyone was still in a pretty playful mood. Tony and Bruce had continued their conversation about AI’s this morning with Shuri, explaining that with this much vibranium, they had enough to repeat what they had done with you.

Bruce was also insistent to run more tests on you, which you were more than willing to do. Because apparently the mess that was made when the three of you were taken into custody was all you. Apparently, aside from giving you some cognitive abilities (amongst other things, like the soothing aspects of your presence) the mind stone had given you some more inherently violent and physical abilities. Like the power to build and charge pure energy and shoot it from your form. You could manifest to scalding temperatures that no human should be able to withstand, and you could easily hurt with the intent to kill.

They wanted to see how much your powers and abilities could stretch, and you were more than happy to let them understand exactly what the mind stone had given you, but you also let them know that you weren’t a hero. That you were glad for the ability to exist again, but you weren’t sure if you could ever act, or, really, _do_ what they do. You knew that if you wanted to, you’d be good at it—damn good.

But that just wasn’t who you were. It would be cool, but for how long? And even then, you let Tony and Bruce know, if it was possible for you, then it could easily work again, and this time, they could create with the intent of making a protector. Not just a conscious mind in need of a body.

“Peace in our time,” is what Tony had said to that. And Shuri was certain they could work the physical aspect out, but she had no idea how the cognitive part would work. And Banner noted that it was lucky that Thor still possessed the mind stone.

“We could work the stone in, attaching each neuron non-sequentially,” Bruce said, drumming Shuri’s desk where the three of them were crowded.

She frowned at that, drawing something on a tablet and holding it up. “We should program it to work collectively. That way it can be removed if need be?”

“That’s…Brilliant,” Banner says the moment next, looking to Tony. “This could work.” He said as the three of them continued to work on their vision.

Bucky was talking to T’Challa, the two of them stood by the large panes of glass that looked out to the inside of the mountain. “I understand, Sargent Barnes,” T’Challa spoke to him.

“Bucky,” Bucky corrected him. “Is there anything you could do?”

T’Challa gave him a promising smile. “Of course, we can help. I’d be more than happy to, actually.”

You saw Bucky nod, shaking his hand. “Thank you.”

“So,” Agent Ross spoke to you. “How about we get to that interview?”

“Interview, huh?” You smile. “I thought it was an interrogation.”

He shrugged, crossing his arms, taking the seat next to you. “Yeah, well, I think I got more answers than I thought I would by coming here.”

“Really?” Your brows furrow. “Answers about HYDRA? Here?” The way that he purses his lips the smallest bit and looks down tells you he’s lying. “Unless this isn’t about HYDRA?”

“Well, not quite,” Ross looks back to you.

“If this isn’t about HYDRA, then why did Steve tell me that the CIA got a lock on Bucky’s location?” You frown.

“Barnes? No, no. We got a lock on _your_ location,” Ross said, brows furrowed, like he thought you knew. “And when we arrived and saw that you were in the same place as the Winter Soldier? It made sense to bring him in too.”

“So, the tip you got, it was about me? Not about Bucky?” You ask, still confused.

Ross nods though. “Yeah, no, we didn’t actually know Bucky was there until we caught a loose tip in one of my other agent’s files.”

It didn’t make much sense, what about you made you valuable to a man like Everett Ross? To the CIA? That didn’t add up. Unless it did. Unless— “This is about vibranium,” you realize. And as you say that T’Challa looks over to you. Actually, everyone kind of does. You look to Ross, trying to search his head for an answer, and luckily something does stick out. “No, no, this is about Ulysses Klaue—isn’t it?”

“You know where Klaue is?” T’Challa speaks to Ross, eyes wide.

“No, no I don’t,” he confesses. Though he looks to Tony and Bruce. “But not too long ago, about seven billion dollars worth of vibranium was taken out of an unmarked facility by the Salvage Yard off the African Coast. Klaue didn’t have a clue. Safe to say he was mad, and he left a trail.”

“Did you follow him?” You ask.

“No, I followed the vibranium, and you made it tough,” Ross says, pointing to Tony. “But I found it, right to you.” And he points to you next.

“We had no idea,” Bruce melds the next moment. “That facility was completely unmarked, we thought it was totally off the grid. Forgotten.”

Ross nods. “Klaue is good like that, because he’s gotten help from one of our own.”

“Who?” You ask, though you can already pick the answer out of the air.

“Erik Stevens. Goes by Killmonger,” Ross says next. “I’ve been working to take down Klaue for years. You know, he actually had a buyer for all that vibranium you’ve got in you.”

“Really? Who?” Bucky asks.

“Well, me,” Ross says, shrugging.

“Why?” You ask.

“I thought if I could strike a deal with him, he’d tell me who his supplier is.” Ross says, pointing a finger down with each word. “This man has worked as a criminal operative for almost over thirty years. He’s dangerous, reckless. And the U.S. Government has had enough.”

“You mean they want to find out where he got all the vibranium,” you say, seeing past Ross’ words.

He sighs, clenching his jaw. “Yes, yeah,” Shuri clicks her tongue shaking her head and looking away disappointed. “But I understand now. I understand that they _can’t_ know.”

“No, you don’t,” T’Challa says, crossing his arms.

“Yes. I do,” and Ross stands up. “The safest hands are yours, hers,” he points back to Shuri. “Your secret is safe with me. It’s not for me to tell, and I’m not going to give my people what they want. Not this time.”

“So, what do suggest we do about Klaue, then?” T’Challa asks Ross.

Ross blinks, shrugging. “I uh,” he purses his lips again, scratching his forehead. “I don’t know. Perhaps we can team up?”

✯✯✯

_It was a warm day when you let Bucky drag you and Steve to one of his friend’s cottages (who knew the wrestling team was filled with rich guys). What was his name again? Right, Thomas Wilson, you’re pretty sure._

_He was having a party, and all the people he had invited found themselves relaxing by the big lake by his place. There was a small jumping off point, and everyone else had jumped in, except for you._

_“It’s too high!” You complained, stepping from foot to foot. Bucky and his friends groaned, the other girls they had brought along were yelling encouragingly at you to hop in. Even Steve had managed to (and Thomas had almost completely tackled him when he finally did. “Hell yes, Rogers!”)._

_“Come on honey, just do it,” one of Thomas’ friends called out, waving at you._

_“Come on!” Bucky howled at you, raising an arm up in the air at you. “Jump! We’re right here!”_

_"Okay,” you said albeit a little wearily. You take a few steps back, which gets you a few appreciative hoots from the others scattered around. You scream a little bit as you charge to the edge, leaping off into the lake below._

_You felt the deep water surround you, just as fast as the way your stomach twisted in your gut as gravity did its job. The sounds of everyone cheering around you became muffled. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off in the slightest and you swim underwater a bit, your eyes feeling a little stung. Though then you feel something tug at your arm and you whip around._

_It’s Bucky, and he’s smiling all big at you. You smile back, going to say ‘I did it’ but all that comes out of your mouth are bubbles, his mouth twitches in a way that clearly meant he was holding back a lough. He swims closer, bringing his hand to clasp around yours. You look back to him, as he pulls you back up to the surface._

_Once you resurface, Bucky’s got your hand in his, thrusting your arm up in the air, laughing brightly as his friends clapped and howled for the both of you._

_“That was awesome!” Thomas called to you after another moment, wading over in the water to give you a high five._

✯✯✯

The sun was sat high in the deep blue atmosphere when you and Bucky returned to your room. Steve was finally awake, helping himself to some food he had ordered. No sign of a hangover in the slightest (which was nice and very new).

He gets up off the bed to greet the two of you, putting down the tablet he was holding in his other hand, scrolling through some news. He kisses your cheek first, and then Bucky’s. “Welcome back,” he smiles to the two of you warmly. “How was the lab?”

You sigh, stretching and pulling off your shoes. “Lovely, eventful.”

“T’Challa said that he might be able to work out all the stuff in my head,” Bucky says, and Steve’s eyes go wide.

“Really?” He says, tugging Bucky closer, trying to see if he could spot the lie, the joke. But there wasn’t one. He chokes a small laugh, hugging him. “That’s great, Buck.”

Bucky sighs into Steve’s arms. “All that shit HYDRA put in me; it’ll all be gone.”

You turn back to the two of them, watching the way Bucky gently padded the skin under Steve’s eyes, wet with emotion. Bucky clicked his tongue. “Always so emotional, Stevie,” and he leaned in the small expanse of space and kissed him.

You smiled, walking back a small bit to the array of food Steve had ordered, going to test some of it, and you distantly heard Steve go “Who’re _you_ calling emotional?” as he walked to you, rubbing his eyes, wrapping his arms around you as you picked at some toast and butter. “Should’ve ate before you left.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” you justify, taking a bite of toast.

“Mm,” Steve hums. “But you’re hungry now?”

“Starving,” you say airily, turning to face him, smiling.

His eyes roam your face easily. His hands too, all of it in a way you’d once bat away, or laugh at, and secretly wish for more. But now there was nothing to hold back. You push upwards, asking him to kiss you, and he does, easily. You sigh into it, tossing the piece of toast back down onto the table, pushing your body into his.

He breaks off when your body rocks a little bit, and you wrap your arms back around his neck. “I can eat later—I’m not even sure I can get hungry actually, I just like eating,” and Steve laughs at that, a full body laugh, even after the two of you are crushed against each other on the bed, he laughs from under you and you smile against his neck, kissing and sucking until he’s laughing less and breathing a bit heavier.

“You know how we used to fight for Bucky’s attention?” You whisper to Steve, and he nods as you straddle him, pulling him to sit up with you. You bite your lip. “Well, I think we got it,” and you and Steve look back to see Bucky staring back at you both from the foot end of the bed, eyes intense. You slide off Steve, crawling to the edge of the bed, beginning to tug Bucky down onto the bed with you.

And this time, it’s Bucky who pulls you into his lap, though all your clothes are beginning to feel far too restricting, which deeply annoys you. But then Steve’s got his hands on the band of the shorts you had put on that morning, beginning to work them off. And you let out an elated sigh at the perfect friction as you worked against the growing erection in Bucky’s pants.

Bucky, by the way, was letting out deep groans every time you rocked against his jeans just right, but you just wanted them off. You guys had the whole day, no, the rest of your lives to just live with each other. And after all this time, you didn’t want to spend any other second any differently.

Steve was sat to the side of you, a leg hooked over both of yours as he licked at your neck. You weren’t sure who to thank for the fact that Steve was just in some sweats that morning, but you were grateful. And you were able to reach down easily enough, palming him through his pants, his breath catching as his head dropped to rest on your shoulder.

You swallow, the thrill of getting fucked running sparks across your back. “Too many clothes,” you manage to say. Bucky ‘mhm’s into your neck, but you get a pretty brilliant idea (if you do say so yourself). You stop pushing yourself down on Bucky’s growing erection, you pull your hand away from Steve too, going still, letting the two of them slowly stop.

You stretch, sneaking between them, hopping off the bed (they both whine a little as you do, their hands trailing your skin in a slow attempt to keep you there). You pull off your shirt, smiling promisingly, balling it up and throwing it at the two of them (who look far too intrigued to care) walking back into the bathroom. “C’mon,” you say, and you disappear past the door, getting rid of the last of your clothes, turning on the shower and stepping in (you didn’t worry that they wouldn’t join you, because the minute they heard the water start, you could hear the sudden shift in the bedsheets as they scrambled to get up).

The three of you waste the rest of the day like that. Just basking in each others company, nothing on your agenda other than rolling around with each other. Sweat-slicked skin and the taste of salt and sex. It was hot and perfect and all you cared about—above everything—was that Steve and Bucky seemed to be enjoying themselves too. You think you could live like this, and honestly, you probably would.

The sun wasn’t setting quite yet, but it had gotten to hanging a little lower in the sky when there was a knocking at your door. “I’ll get it,” you say, shooting up from between Bucky and Steve, the two of them had begun to doze off as the afternoon quieted down (their hands were absently running circles into your skin, massaging out the irrational fear you had grown, that _maybe_ you were just dreaming all of this). You had ordered some late lunch/early dinner, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around you, to go answer the door. When you open it now, however, you see that it’s Okoye.

“Hello,” she says to you with a sharp nod.

“Okoye,” you say, nodding. “Hi, is something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong,” She says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Shuri wanted me to send for you and Barnes immediately, she said that she may have figured—his _issue_ —out, but she needs to talk with Barnes first.”

You nod slowly. “Of course, yeah, yes, I’ll get dressed and we’ll head over. Thank you,” you say, giving her another smile before she walks off, and you close the door.

✯✯✯

_"That was, so damn cool,” Thomas said to you later that night. The sun had completely set, and everyone was lounging out in the grassy field by his cottage. Thomas and Bucky had set a fire that they were keeping alive with logs and old newspaper._

_“Thanks,” you smile back at him, moving over so he could sit on the log next to you. You were wrapped up in a blanket, and your hair was a little mussed from all the swimming and running around you had been doing that day. “It was actually a lot of fun,” you shrug._

_“Ah, yeah,” Thomas nods. “I couldn’t tell, actually, with the way you hopped back out three other times to jump in again.”_

_You laugh, shaking your head and looking down. “Yeah, I did that, didn’t I?”_

_Thomas grins and looks back at you, chuckling. “Why hasn’t Bucky ever mentioned you?” He says, voice light with a strange disbelief._

_Your brows furrow, and you tug the blanket a bit tighter as a small summer wind rolled through. “What do you mean?”_

_“I mean, he’s always talked about you and Steve,” Thomas sighs. “But he never, I don’t know—” he shrugs waving his hand absently. “You’re just beautiful, I don’t know. He never mentioned that.”_

_Your mouth is agape, and you try to hide it by chuckling, and shaking your head. Bucky’s always told you that you were beautiful, he was actually pretty eloquent when he wanted to be. But you thought that maybe he was telling you that you were gorgeous the same way that he would tell Steve he was strong. Though Steve was actually strong. He was strong in the way he fought (even when he lost), he was strong in his resolve, his determination, his stubbornness. All of it._

_But you weren’t beautiful, or you never really thought Bucky meant it whenever he said it. You always just thought it was a thing he said because he had to. Though, Thomas didn’t even know you and yet he was here, calling you pretty, and then you wonder if perhaps Bucky wasn’t just saying it to say it. Maybe he meant it (and that made you feel exceptionally nice). “Thank you, Thomas,” you start, standing up. “I’ve actually got to go find Bucky now—if you’ll excuse me.”_

_“No, hey, c’mon,” and he puts a hand to your shoulder. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to annoy you.”_

_“Actually, I think you helped me out,” you say honestly, giving him a reassuring smile. “But I do need to go find Bucky.” He drops his hand, and you duck away, walking back into the cottage._

_You see Bucky in the kitchen, beer bottle on the counter as he chopped at something, Steve sat on the counter, legs hanging off the side, the two of them talking about what the plan was for tomorrow. Steve sees you first, shooting you a smile and a wave. And Bucky turns around, shooting you a smile as well._

_“There you are,” Bucky said, eyes lighting up as he pulled you into a tight hug. And this, was the first stage Bucky went through when he drank. Always a little boisterous, a little eccentric, always easily excitable and easy to please and easy to love._

_You grunt a small bit. “Hi, Buck,” you muster, and when he lets go, you gasp a breath, taking a few steps to lean next to where Steve was sitting. “What’re you guys doing in here?”_

_Bucky shrugs. “Steve was getting cold out there, so I told him we could come in, I’d make him something to eat, and we could go relax in my room.”_

_“That sounds fun,” you muse, trying to peek at whatever Bucky was cooking._

_“Well, I’d be over the moon if you joined us,” Bucky turns to look at you, knife pointed at you. “There’s more than enough room.”_

_“And I’d love to,” you reply, batting your lashes like you were completely besotted (and really, you totally were. Head over heels, over the moon, all that romantic nonsense—you just didn’t know it yet)._

_“That’s my girl,” Bucky smiled, going back to chopping._

_“You know that, uh, Thomas guy called me beautiful,” you interject, not too sure why you brought it up like that._

_“And you’re standing in here with us now because…?” Steve asked you, cocking his head to the side._

_“You really need to ask? He’s not my type,” you deadpan._

_“What’s your type, then?” Steve asks you, bringing a leg up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it._

_“Blonde hair, blue eyes,” you hum, leaning over at him. “ninety-five pounds soaking wet, and a damn good artist.”_

_Steve gave you a humorless smile, looking down to hide the way his face started to redden. “Well that could be anyone.”_

_“Afraid not,” Bucky said, turning to face both of you. “Looks like we’ve got the same type,” Bucky says to you, shooting you a wink. You agree, and he reaches back to take another gulp of the beer he had brought in. “And you are beautiful,” Bucky says, snorting a small bit. “Don’t know why you needed Wilson to tell you that—I tell you all the time.”_

_“And you mean it?” You jab, crossing your arms, pulling the blanket closer._

_Bucky clicks his tongue, striding over to you, pulling your hands to his, resting them against his chest. “I could be blind and mean it.”_

✯✯✯

The three of you take the trip back to Shuri’s immediately. She greets each of you warmly, taking you down to the main floor of her design lab. As you three walk down, T’Challa greets you as well as Ross, the two of them discussing something else, but they migrate away, giving Shuri the floor.

“Okoye was telling me that you might have figured out how to work this issue out?” You say, fidgeting with your hands as she brings you to one of many tables, beginning to sort through many different holographic files.

“I have,” Shuri says, though she sounds a little more uncertain that you would’ve thought. “But I’m not too certain it’s a solution that you will like.”

Bucky looks to the two of you, taking your hand in his. “Tell us, what do you think will help?”

She sighs. “When Steve Rogers took down HYDRA, and Natasha Romanoff managed to release all their files to the public, there was a lot of information I was able to gather on you, Barnes. Or rather, the Winter Soldier.” She flips through a file. “Much of this, I’m sure you know,” Shuri says to you, and you nod back (perks of your consciousness being used by HYDRA for seventy years).

“But some of the,” she pauses, looking for the right word. “ _Programming_ , they managed to do, it’s deeply embedded in codewords and other triggers that I can’t pull out of your subconscious.”

You nod. “You mean you can’t pull it out of his subconscious while he’s awake.”

“Right,” and she looks between the three of you. “Our best bet is putting you back under.”

“You mean cryogenically freeze him again?” Steve questions, keeping his voice remarkably calm.

She nods but drops eye contact. “It would allow me to work easier with his subconscious, without damaging any part of the person he was before _or_ after.”

“So, it’s our best bet, then?” Bucky asks, his voice sounds a little low.

“Unfortunately, it is,” Shuri said. “But I’d only do it if you consent to it, if you don’t want that, I’d be happy to keep looking for other ways to do what you’ve asked of me. But it’ll be a while—”

“I’ll do it,” Bucky speaks up, and Steve and you shoot him a concerned look. Bucky sighs, “hey, it’s okay. You’re _asking_ me if I want to go under—I’ve never been asked before—so it feels like a good start.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you trust me with this. Now, I can have the cryo-pod set up whenever you wish, so if you need to think about it, please do,” Bucky nods, thanking her, the three of you standing up as she explained some of the more technical details to you.

T'Challa strolled up next to you the moment next, and you shake his hand again. “Thank you again, for everything,” you let him know.

He nods, though the moment next, his brows furrow like he’s thinking. “Have you ever seen a Wakandan sunset?” He asks.

“I can’t say that I have,” you grin, and he nods, looking down at you.

“Come with me, all of you,” he directs you, Bucky and Steve.

The three of you follow him, he takes you a level lower in the design lab, doors opening, leading directly into the part of the cave that you had only really seen through the windows in the workshop. The three of you follow, noting the chilly temperature that seemed to sweep right through your clothes from the inside of the mountain.

He walks the three of you to a lift, stepping on. “We built a statue of Bast here, long ago. She is the Panther Goddess, who was said to lead our first leader to become the first Black Panther. And now, she watches over Wakanda from here.” T’Challa says, gesturing out to where he has brought you.

You gasp at it, stepping off the lift and onto the flat mouth of the mountain. You look up, seeing the statue that T’Challa had spoken of. Bast, her gaze strong and outward to the land that Wakanda was built on.

You continue to walk, Steve and Bucky close behind, as your eyes trail the distant mountain ranges, watching the sun dip lower, painting the sky the most beautiful orange, melting to blue and pink. The clouds were pillow-y and floated weightlessly as the wind sailed them through the sky.

Even in the distance, shroud past the ranges, you could make out the city, the palace. You could see the distant glint of water as the sun’s reflection danced and glittered in it.

You take to the edge of the cliff, sitting with your feet hanging off the side, Steve and Bucky sitting on either side of you. “It’s beautiful,” you manage to say, your heart spilling over in your chest. You feel Steve take your hand in his, and you turn to look at him.

“It really is,” and he smiles. You watch the way the golden light flickers in his eyes, bringing him to life, you watch the way the colour of the sky paints his skin, making him glow. The rose of his cheeks pale but persistent, his red lips soft and sweet as they tugged into a smile. You smile back, before you both look back out to the world outside.

All this time. Memories change and grow, and so did the three of you. You like to think that through it all, you each grew for the better. That everything you each went through made you stronger. And even better, you still had each other through it.

Bucky sighs, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “I think I can see home from here,” he jokes, and you laugh. Turning to look at him, his long brown hair looked soft in the light, his eyes were calm and soft with the way the sky swam in them, making them look more blue than grey. His pale skin glimmered with the promise of a sound mind, finally within his reach. His smile was bright and honest. He was always beautiful when he was happy.

It was enough back then, in the old apartment that the three of you could barely afford. It was enough to come home to them and know that they’d be there for you the same way you’d be there for them. It was enough during the war to see them walk back to base, covered in dust and ash and blood, but alive. Their hearts still beating strong in their chests.

And it was enough now, in the ridiculously large bed you currently had, your stomachs filled with food fit for royalty (literally), and your minds clear knowing that death wasn’t imminent in any way. Hell, Bucky and Steve could even go out in public and dance and kiss all they wanted, and the only reason anyone would care is because Steve is Captain America.

“I think I can too,” you finally say in response, looking to Bucky and then Steve. They both smile back at you, as you look back out to the sunset, letting the world shower you in its beauty, you take a liberating breath. All of this was a long time coming, “Home,” you nod.

The three of you had fought your wars, and still, the universe let you meet again. The universe let your paths cross again. Finally, the three of you could live a life together. One that was comfortable and easy. No threat of war or hunger or sickness looming the way it had in the past. The world wasn’t a perfect place, and you knew it wouldn’t be for a long time.

But right now, you had Steve and Bucky.

You were _home_.

And it was impossibly more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is now complete! Thank you so much to everyone who's read and enjoyed it! I really appreciate each of you! Thank you for being so supportive, and I hope that each of you enjoyed reading this as I did writing it!
> 
> I always wanted to meet Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. I wondered what scenario we would need to become lifelong friends. I kinda realized that would probably only happen if we each met in grade school. And me, being the little shit that I was. How that would translate between two boys who didn't see me as a girl but more just like a little kid that in no way should be allowed to have an attitude that didn't match her gender or skin tone or height. I realized then, for them, as well as for me (or really, all of us) it would translate well--because Steve was the same. He always had an attitude that didn't match what he looked like, but that never stopped him from doing what was right. So I thought it'd probably translate well :)  
> (Also I'm not too sure how AO3 works so I hope that you guys don't get a whole bunch of meaningless updates as I fix spelling and grammatical errors)  
> Once again, thank you so much everyone who's read and enjoyed this story!


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